Getting things done in Abu Dhabi, UAE

On returning from the Vet's this morning, Moose (the cat) and I entered the roundabout at Shakbout and Delma Streets.

We (Moose and I) were in the middle lane of the three and indicating to turn left. There was a silver Camry in the inside lane also waiting but as they were to my left, I couldn't see any indicators.

In a break in the traffic, my feline companion and I (still indicating) entered the intersection and proceeded - while staying in our lane - to follow the roundabout around to the left.

The Camry decided to accelerate hard and *almost* t- boned me as I was turning, as it was trying to go straight, from the inside lane.
Continues

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The rains came a couple of weeks ago, and flooded just about any area that could be defined as a street, or the areas next to the streets...and houses... and 2nd floor apartments apparently.

My friend, one of the folk with flooding issues in her 2nd floor abode, mentioned that it had nothing to do with some tsunami style tidal surge. Nor did rivers that had broken their banks send a crushing load of water along the streets turning them into some kind of Porsche and chicken strewn canal.
No, nothing as dramatic. (thankfully)

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Alright alright already... the complaint post, in edited form - enjoy

It’s a funny place this, although for long time readers this is a concept I bring up often. The latest thing to catch my eye won’t make me popular (as I mentioned in yesterday’s post) but given that I often go week to week speaking only to shop attendants, it’s safe to assume the fallout won’t affect my dance card too dramatically: so… on with the show.

This post is about personal interactions… and complaints… because it seems that even if some folk found themselves in the best place in the world, they still couldn't help but bitch.

Interestingly the people I hear complain the loudest all come from one nation, or maybe I am just lucky enough to see them at a bad time of their day - Consistently.

It’s not the complaining specifically that I find so interesting, (this blog is full of observations on life here that I find funny, quaint and COULD be construed as complaining). I guess it’s the manner in which the complaint is often made. Or if not complaining directly, there is often a meanness of superior position that is injected into the transaction, thereby creating a negative and impossible situation - if only for a moment.

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I can't pare the the promised post down any more.

Well, I could, but what is the point of an observation when I can't poke a bit of fun at it along the way.

So I'm going to leave the post on: 'Complaints, and the nationality that makes the most' for another time. Perhaps even another blog.

A blog that would encourage vitriolic sprays, rather than the good humoured rants that go on in this fair space.

See the problem is that I can't make the post sound like I don't hate the English. Which I don't (except when they get demonstrate at the end of a Rugby-Union match that they are either gracious losers or atrocious winners).

No I don't dislike them at all - oh except when the first thing that comes out of their mouth is something about my being from a prison island.

I GENUINELY like them except when it becomes obvious that their entire knowledge of Australia is based on the adventures from Ramsay Street, or Summer bay.

err... sorry, got carried away... :-p

Really though, I know too many English folk here, and I'm not concerned about my dance-card being emptied - it's never full, it is out of sheer respect for people I genuinely like that I am withholding the post.

Yup, that post is going to be pondered. Or maybe sent on privately to Australian friends for them to nod sagely over and perhaps add to.

So - I'm going to get on to another post - the mainstay of bloggers here on the little desert island:

Driving - I think I have the answer. Or at least have found the problem.

:-)

Right, given that the last post was sooo well received (there’s only a hint of sarcasm in that comment, the email was divided between me being bias - both for and against) AND because I dearly want this place to succeed, as becoming a full time tea drinker is becoming more and more a reality, I decided to head back to Jones the Grocer. This time opting for a time that was away from the crazy lunch hour fest that was on during the last visit.

As my mate Line was talking to me again (we had some tense times due to my assertions in previous posts that she is, at heart, a great big liar), and was herself significantly under-whelmed by the coffee in Abu Dhabi, we agreed on a time to grab a beverage (and maybe a cake).

Then Line cancelled.

SO, we arranged a new time - which she managed to not cancel and I picked her up at the standard spot.

Line got in the truckster, said “Hello” then backed up with:

“You DO know where we are going, don’t you?” Smirking as she secured her seat belt.

“That’s how it’s going to be is it?”

“What?” said Line, affecting a look of innocence.

Now to say that we did in fact get lost on the way to Jones would be an over statement. To say that some incorrect turns were taken may be a little closer to the truth. In defence though, I knew where it was, and how to get there - from MY apartment. Not Line’s.

I’d also like to point out at this juncture that while less than perfect directional choices MAY have been made, each resulting street was still familiar, thus creating a more scenic path to our afternoon’s activity.

In only slightly longer time than was originally expected we arrived, and I managed to maintain my 2 from 2 ‘rock-star’ parking record.

For those not in the know, to park like a rock star one must drive to one’s destination, and without having to wait for someone to leave, park immediately out front of said establishment. Thus far, 2 visits, and with a combined walking distance of less than 30 metres from car to front door, I’m strutting to the tune of Stayin’ Alive just thinking about it.

On the inside:

Fair to say that I was a little scathing in the previous post about this great establishment. Not without reason I might add. The solution for those wishing to miss all the havoc (as funny as it was) is to simply go later in the afternoon.

Line and I strolled in to a much quieter café than on the last trip. Strangely though we elected to sit in at the very same table that my hardworking wife and I sat at… perhaps subconsciously drawn to the same table to make sure that all the variables could be accounted for by making the experience as similar as possible.

OR - perhaps it’s just because Line unknowingly suggested we sit at that table, and I couldn’t find a reason not to.

The service (due to lack of customer numbers I suspect) was great. Fast, efficient, friendly (not that they weren’t friendly before… they just lacked the flustered ‘chasing tail’ look this time).

The coffee however was superb. Extraordinarily good. So were the cakes that arrived at just the right time.

I decided to throw caution to the wind and order what has been even more elusive than a latte here in this pile o’ sand.

A macchiato.

To refresh your memories as to how wrong a coffee shop can get a macchiato here - feel free to go to the contents page (over there in the categories list) and select ‘Idioms’ from the section marked ‘The coffee project’ - or don‘t, it‘s your dime…

…I ordered then distractedly went on with the conversation, I think we had moved on to the topic of cheese, or Norwegian moonshine, while waiting for my macchiato.

It arrived, again in good time.

I rarely say this about coffee anywhere BUT - it was perfect, well nearly - but any criticism that I could level would only be appreciated by the true geeks among you (for those really interested in the level of my coffee/macchiato affliction who may have similar interests themselves, I’m simply going to say ‘foam’ and ‘a weeny bit too much’). For those who have lives and more interesting things to consider like, well, ANYTHING else, please strike the information in parenthesis from the record.

With me savouring the first real macchiato I have had in a long time, Line spied bottles of water in the large display cabinet behind me, and was immediately up and on her way over to inspect. Turns out that it’s Norwegian water - (Line is from Norway) .

I began to wax lyrical about the connection to her homeland via the fluid in bottles stacked 4 deep on a shelf in an Abu Dhabi coffee shop, and how nice it must be etc.

She indulged me as I banged on about distance, and hands of her kin folk etc.

Once she figured I had got it out of my system, she said,

“Yes, very nice. It’s actually made by hill billies you know”.

Then went on in a manner that I took to mean that it’s a good thing they do, because if the folk living in the region this stuff was coming from weren’t bottling water, they wouldn’t have much else to do, (bar chowing down on whale of course).

Product of a hillbilly or not, she still grabbed 2 large bottles of the stuff to take with her after we had done our lap of the shelves…

What I haven’t mentioned thus far is that JtG ain’t just a coffee/breaky/lunch spot. It sells all manner of stuff - homemade ice-cream, nougat, coffee machines, preserves, and a whole bunch of other gear, worth a visit just for that.

What is also worth visiting is the cheese room.

Yes.

ROOM.

Line and I went and inspected the room o’ cheese during our walk of the perimeter, and were met inside it’s refrigerated wonderment by someone I am just going to have to call ‘The Cheese Guy‘. This guardian of the cheese safe proceeded to make a couple of jokes about cheese, asked us where we were from and was just generally funny - a nice change to the stern/forced politeness of other venues - not that any other venues have a cheese room of course, but maybe it was the spores from the blue cheese that helped make him so happy. Maybe we looked like 6 foot Wookies and he was passing the time in order to stop himself from freaking out… whatever the case, it was good, and the selection is ace.

Nothing else to say, other than I hope that Jones the Grocer Abu Dhabi is able to rock that sort of service, or at least similar during the busy times.

The quality of the product though is 1st class.

Give it a try, and order a macchiato - it’s great.