Hooch, Booze, Sid And Eth

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

This genteel post over at super-smashing expat blog The Displaced Nation started a chat on Twitter today about the demon drink, particularly as relates to its consumption in the country Americans, for some reason, like to call 'Sordi'.

My first exposure to expat drinking habits in the Krazy Kingdom came in 1986, just after Her Majesty had intervened in the case of a number of 'nuns and strippers' who had been lifted by the gendarmes after a party in Jeddah had been busted in an action that ran contrary to accepted norms. Usually, the police knock on the compound gates, the watchman tells them to hold on a minute and rings around to tell everyone to jettison their stash. Result: squeaky-clean compound and a lot of very happy fish.

This time around, they dispensed with the niceties and (if memory serves me right) about fifty expats were facing eighty lashes each for consuming alcohol. I don't remember if there was any additional punishment for dressing as a nun or a stripper, but I have always had a fond image of the chase across the desert sands in my mind's eye. After Brenda got involved, they were merely deported - and deportation, rather than the traditional punishment meted out to Muslims, became the norm in such cases.

So it was, just after this had all blown over, I found myself in-Kingdom. A chap called Graham was my first introduction to expat weekends in Saudi. Based in Khobar, he was having a party that weekend, would I like to come along? It was a raucous affair and Graham's villa had a bar upstairs, complete with dartboard and a variety of 'lifted' bar accessories such as ashtrays and beer mats.

There were four drinks on offer: 'white' or 'brown', Dr John's blackberry wine or 'beer'.

Now 'white' was 'siddiqi', Arabic for 'friend'. 'Sid' or 'Sin' to some was basically ethanol, whether produced in a bathtub or by a laboratory for medicinal use (a friend was a physics teacher in Kuwait and used to have to keep the ethanol under lock and key. 'Eth' is a popular libation in that place). Ethyl alcohol, cut 5:1 with water, is a potent drink but doesn't induce a hangover as there are none of the impurities you'll find in less direct forms of inebriative condiment. You can lam some juniper berries into it if you fancy 'sin and tonic'. On the other hand, 'brown' was sid with oak chips added. This made it look like whisky, even though it tasted like methylated spirits that had been dripped through rabbit bedding.

An important life tip. You always test a new bottle of sid or eth (or even their close relative, the wonderful Irish libation poitin). Always. Burn some on a spoon, if it burns with a clear, smokeless flame, you're good. If it has any colour to the flame or gives off black smoke, one sip will have potentially lethal consequences. Please don't try this at home.

Dr John's wine was actually delicious, although very strong and sweet. Unlike the sid, its consumption carried  appalling consequences the next morning. And the beer, as all home made beer in desert kingdoms is, was just appalling stuff. You skip down to the supermarket and buy trays of 'malt beverage' (for a short, halcyon, time, authorities were unaware of what tins of brewer's wort looked like, but they copped on pretty fast. Thousands of expats suddenly presenting themselves at the airports carrying huge tins with 'beenz' scrawled on them in magic marker might have had something to do with it), sugar and baker's yeast. Now you put it all in a dustbin and then place on the roof of the villa for a couple of weeks. Bottle the resulting noxious brew and consume at leisure, ideally chilled to the point where you can't taste it.

The following morning saw me awake and staggering out into the blazing sunshine where my kind hosts were barbecuing T-bone steaks for breakfast and downing kiloton-spiced bloody marys. The strongly emetic consequences of Dr John's wine combined with a hammering in my head and a powerful dehydration that made me feel as if I had been steeped in lime overnight. I couldn't take it. More to the point, my liver couldn't take it. Lightweight that I am, I fled for my hotel.

In the intervening two and a half decades or so, I have frequently found myself in the company of chaps enjoying the illicit pleasures of the grape in a number of places and situations, sometimes in highly imaginative ways. But that first encounter with the expatriated liver remains a clear and formative memory.

The Cost Of Being An Expat

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

First things first: I'm not complaining. We've lived here a long time because we like it here. I won't bore you with all our 'reasons to be cheerful' but suffice to say they are legion.

But there's a report in today's Gulf News, which talks about how 60% of young Emiratis surveyed are apprehensive but not frightened of the UAE's overwhelmingly expat demographic - 85% of the overall population here is expat - it's higher in Dubai, which is 90% expat.

That's nothing new. The UAE population has been numerically dominated by its expat workforce since the year dot.

Buried deep in GN's long analysis of why this is really good news for everyone is an interesting figure, though. According to a certain Dr. N. Janardhan, the average expat makes a contribution to the state of Dhs 2,507 while the state invests Dhs 14,066 a year in each expat.

I'm afraid I rather screeched to a halt. I'm sure Dr Janardhan's figures are skewed by the preponderance of the UAE's labourers, but I can tell you that I for one am paying a great deal more than Dhs 2,507 in fees and taxes. And yes, I know the UAE's tax free, but when you charge a fee as a percentage of a transaction, for instance the tenancy contract registration fee, calling it a fee is really just obfuscation.

I got to Dhs 8,000 pretty easily and hadn't even started down the road of the cost of power here (which is significantly more than in the UK, despite the fact this is an oil producing country, because the expats subsidise the Emiratis). Try as I might, I couldn't work out where the Dhs 14,066 comes from, because you pays for what you gets here, from healthcare to transportation.

It started me wondering what the cost vs economic contribution would be for yer average expat. In short, what's our ROI?

The Emirates ID Card Moves Online

Image via Wikipedia

The Emirates ID Card was launched in 2008. Now, in 2012, we are to see the application process for the card implemented as an online form. Launched initially for UAE nationals only, the online application will be rolled out to UAE residents and GCC nationals in the 'next two months'.

This latest in a long line of announcements, many of which have been followed by clarifications, is potentially the most welcome (and useful) of all.

Gulf News, reporting on the move, focuses on the cost saving to applicants (you save the Dhs30 typing centre fee, so the card will cost you a mere Dhs240 instead of Dhs270) rather than the saving in travel, waiting, queuing, shuffling around from counter to counter with a pile of papers and general messing about involved.

Although, as is so often the case, there's a whiff of sulphur invading the clear air of paradise - Gulf News' story (linked here for your viewing pleasure) contains the line, "Online applicants can print out their receipt which will mention the appointment to visit an Emirates ID registration centre."

Of course, an online application process would involve filling in a form, uploading copies of any documents required, paying any fees online with a credit card and then having the card mailed to you, wouldn't it? It would be insanity to have people filling in the forms online and then having to make an appointment to physically travel to an Emirates ID registration centre and queue to have the application reviewed and the card issued to them in person. Nobody in their right minds would implement an online process like that, would they?

I should perhaps remind you that this announcement comes from the people that gave us the application application, an online application that allowed you to fill out and print the application form required to make an application for an appointment to make your application.

We can only await the usual clarification...

Changes

So for the past couple of weekends, we’ve taken to wandering around some of our old haunts up in the mountains of the Northern Emirates.

It’s strange how life can overtake you: there are places we used to go to a lot which we simply haven’t bothered with in the past few years and we’re now finding they’ve changed out of all recognition when we revisit them.

The Hatta Track, for instance, which is now 95% blacktop from just beyond the pools all the way down to Al Ain, including the Mahda/Al Ain track. Last weekend we went wandering from Hatta (where we stayed at that slightly eccentric but rarely less than brilliant chill-out weekend bolt-hole, the Hatta Fort Hotel) to Tawi Mileha (Fossil Rock to you, mate). We took what used to be the Munay/Siji track which is now blacktop all the way up through to its connection with the Dhaid/Masafi Road. It also, for a stretch, combines with the new Mileha road, which leads from the infamous National Paints roundabout in Sharjah right the way through to Khor Kalba on the East coast. We can, literally, remember when it all used to be sand. Now it’s quarries and crushers, heavy trucks and truck stops and weighbridges: new roads blasted through the mountains and snaking across the sandy plains.

The graded mountain tracks that criss-crossed and even ran up wadi beds have given way to tarmac and remote villages have been transformed into new municipality housing projects. Whole mountains have disappeared, too. They’re blowing up and crushing down so much rock from these areas, that the very shape and form of the Hajjar mountains is starting to change.

Every few kilometres through the mountains, there’s a broken crash barrier and a pile of rocks by the roadside. We found ourselves wondering how many of those drivers had managed to walk away and concluding, from the often precipitous landscape around us, that there were a lot of grieving families we weren’t hearing about.

We also took to wondering what the sheer scale of quarrying that we saw is going to do to the flow of water from those mountainsides. The rainwater flows down the natural funnels of the rocky landscape, channelled by the wadis to drain down through the natural filters of the rock and gravel wadi beds into the underground aquifers that provide the UAE’s scant natural water.

Those aquifers are already dangerously depleted and becoming saline in places.

Of course, flattening a few mountains won’t make any difference. But we’re looking at more than a few mountains. The scale of the operation is massive. Give it a few years of unplanned, unchecked exploitation and you’re going to be looking at some very unpredictable changes to the flow of the seasonal waters in those mountains: seasonal waters that can flow with unstoppable, punishing force. But also seasonal waters that feed the great desert wadis of Dhaid, Falaj Al Moalla and Mahda and sustain the many farms and date plantations that surround them.

Moaning Minnies

A number of people have complained that I haven't been posting here but that I have been posting there and they don't like it because the food stuff is boring.

How can food be boring? Philistines!

Anyway. I'll try and post here some more as well. But don't blame me if it's not funny, mature or clever.