Thursday, July 08, 2004
I'm off to a Smug Married Party. Alone. Jim's still in Holland so I've to face these hockey couples on my own. Think there will be other "singles" there too. Maybe will be better than I anticipate. There will be alcohol...
posted by KKT at 7:02 PM
Maybe will get started and head to a club on SZR later.
Katie suggested going nude. That'd get the social circle buzzing...
Can you imagine an Arabic NYPD Blue? UAEPD Blue, perhaps? Over the past few days, I have had a glimpse of this gritty police show’s Middle Eastern parallel universe.
posted by KKT at 8:15 AM
Friday, July 2
11:00 Fabulous brunch at the Mina Seyahi.
12:00 Enter gates of Wild Wadi Water Park (Dubai’s Schlitterbahn)
This water park was awesome! It has water shoot/slides that actually have high-powered water jets that thrust your inner tube through the causeways while twisting and turning in every direction. One problem. On our first trip through the shoots, I was twisted, turned, and slammed my foot into one of the metal railings. “I’m hit!” I wanted to scream. I knew it was bad, but I was having so much fun I ignored it and kept going. Once we were done with the route and got off to get back in line for another go, we noticed an ostrich egg sized lump beginning to form on my foot. We began to get worried when I could not longer put pressure on the foot, therefore standing like a stork to avoid more swelling. We went back to the lounge area where a helpful Wild Wadi dude brought me a First Aid ice pack. Jim thought we should go home to rest the lumpy foot, but I was determined to go on with the day, ride the shoots, and take on the Jumeriah Scariah (the huge rollercoaster water slide). So after the ice pack was warm and my foot was nicely numbed, we head back out to have a great day in the sun and water.
4:00 Return to car in Wild Wadi car park and discover our mobile phones are missing. Stolen in fact. Also discover that we failed to lock the car. Stupid. We tell one of the many oblivious security guards what happened and ask that they call us if anything turns up (yeah, right!).
Purchase new Nokia 7610 (which I’d been coveting since its recent launch) and grumble about how I will never recover all the phone numbers on my SIM card. Jim, of course, had back up on his computer.
Jim receives phone call from Mr. Obaid, Criminal Investiagion Department. He says, “we caught the criminals” and instructs us to make a police report so we can retrieve our phones.
Can you believe it? In Houston, this would never happen. In Houston, I would chalk it up exactly as we did – stupidity and back luck, suck it up and go buy a new phone.
I head to the police station to make my report where I was told to come back that night, because it’s procedure, when the officer that would have been on duty at the time of the incident would be on duty again. So after taking Jim to the airport at 11:00 that night, I stopped by the police station again. The Dubai Police Station at midnight is a strange place. After a series of confusing conversations, I finally was sat down and managed to give my statement. I was then told I would be given a case number the next night by telephone, because it’s procedure.
The next morning, Mr. Obaid called from Police Headquarters and asked me to meet him there in thirty minutes to make another report, because it’s procedure. I asked him to give me an hour because (a) I was still in my pj’s, and (b) I had no idea where Police Headquarters was.
I get down to Headquarters and call Mr. Obaid who instructs me to sit in the ‘Ladies’ Waiting’ area until someone comes for me. Then I am shuffled to another waiting area until he arrives and sits me in the bleakest room I’d ever seen with a man that looked like the black Arabic version of Det. Sipowitz. As I gazed at the dingy white walls, Sipowitz saw my disdain and agreed the quarters were pretty dismal. Mr. Obaid entered the room and took me to an office with actual furniture. Again I am confronted with the “everyman black leather sofa set.” Apparently, this is an international phenomenon. There two other men already in the office. One was sitting importantly behind his oversized faux marble desk, sipping tea and the other was slumped in one of two overstuffed leather chairs, perusing a stack of photos through his black Ray Bans. Mr. Obaid brings me a glass of water and unlocks a cabinet where he retrieves a plastic grocery bag. He opened the bag of loot on the coffee table and rifled through the cameras, phones, and MP3 players until he pulls out my little pink Nokia and Jim’s Sony phone. I identified our phones with receipts and he said I could pick them up at the other police station the next day, because it’s procedure.