Caught in the Tide

The guy two cars ahead of us swerved and then suddenly there was an old man in the road, bewildered and scared. The car in front jinked left, right, left. The old man moved, too, but in the same direction each time, a macabre mirror-dance with an inevitable finale.
He held up his hands in supplication, or perhaps negation. The car hit him and then he was high in the air, a ridiculous flight.

He landed on the tarmac beside us, then was behind as we juddered to a halt. I got out of the car. The old man was sitting in the road, his bloody head in his hands, but I was transfixed by the realisation that there was little I could do, here in the middle of the dusty road off the Alex highway. There were men running everywhere and a group of four grasped the pitiful frame as I stood, useless and bewildered. He was stiff and stayed in his sitting position as they lifted him. I had seen this rigor before, a dead old beggar being hefted out of the gutter of the covered souk in Halab. Sometimes Cairo reminds me of Halab in its relentless, remorseless movement of people and goods in the pursuit of marginal gain. And this old man reminded me of that old man, a victim of the tide.

His sandals were still in the road, being run over by passing cars, lorries and buses packed with curious faces pressed to the windows. The driver and I both darted into the traffic to get them back, I saw the old man’s keys, two of them tied together on a keyring with a see-through plastic die on the fob and scooped them up. I handed the keys to one of the bystanders huddled around the old man, sitting by the road in his dusty kandoura, a horrific wound in his forehead where he’d smashed it into the corner of the car window, I remember thinking stupidly how there was remarkably little blood, although his face was streaked with red. They were giving him water and then a traffic cop turned up.
There was nothing more we could do, so we drove off: three silent people in a car together with nothing to say.

Ten Things To Take You Outside Dubai.

It’s coming up for the visiting season: that time of year when the weather’s just peachy for barbecues and beaches. And that will bring the inevitable influx of visitors, Christmas Aunts and others. So what can you do with them to get everyone out of the house and celebrating some of the richness and diversity around us? And no, I’m not being sarcastic. There’s loads here, if you just know where to look for it. It really riles me when so many people don’t even bother to go out and explore, just sit in their gated gardens whining about how little culture there is etc etc.

So here’s a starter for ten: all fascinating and all linked to the culture and history of the UAE, so mixing pleasure with perhaps even a little edukashun. And a nice antidote to those fake plastic souks!

Warning: Megapost

I woke up with the idea of doing this, for some reason, and started with the intention of doing one a day because they’re each longish. And then I had a flight to Cairo and real work to do, so I did these instead and thought I might as well just chuck ‘em all up here. Please do feel free to cut and paste, but if you paste on the web, do link back here, ta! You never know, perhaps these will inspire young Bluey to get snapping again instead of lazing around on the beach…

Ajman Museum

The home of the ruler until 1967, Ajman Museum is situated in Ajman Fort and is probably in line for a UNESCO award for being the most charming, eclectic and generally just eccentric collection of historical artefacts and household junk in the Middle East (yes, they’re virtually indistinguishable), but it’s a fascinating insight into life in the Emirates before traffic and features some marvellous displays. For some odd reason they get funny about photography but will issue a permit if you ask ‘em nicely. By no means as slick or sophisticated as Dubai Museum, which is really why it’s such an appealing place. One amazing, if simple, display is the date store, showing how they used to collect the date syrup from the pressed jute sacks in runnels that led to an underfloor tank, out of which they used to ladle the syrup, straining it through a palm fibre funnel to get rid of the wasps. Other displays include the Ruler’s suite, a souk, crime and punishment (including real stocks and some graphic stuff about shooting criminals) and a medical display.

Find it by driving to Ajman and asking anyone where Ajman Fort is. They’ll lie to you, but the diversion will be fun…

Once you’ve done looking at old furniture, house displays, boats, souqs and so on, then turn right out of the museum and right again at the roundabout and you’ll find yourself, after a couple of hundred yards and a left turn off the traffic lights, in Ajman’s Iranian souk, which is well worth an evening’s wander.

Sharjah Desert Park

Originally built under the eagle eye of amateur zoologist and long term UAE resident Marijke Joengbloed (hope I got that right, did it from memory), who wrote a letter to His Highness Dr. Sheikh Sultan Al Qassmi, the ruler of Sharjah, to complain that the Bedouin were decimating the breeding grounds of the spiny tailed lizard (or Dhub, in Arabic) as it is considered an aphrodisiac. The good Dr. responded by suggesting they build a wildlife park and conservation centre, which they duly did. Joengbloed, a delightfully eccentric woman, took great pleasure in the fact that the larger animals are outside, while the humans are kept inside looking out at them: effectively reversing the accepted zoo visitor/animal relationship. The park and museum are fascinating, with super displays on the geology and natural history of the UAE’s desert biome as well as examples of the very rich flora and fauna of the Emirates' deserts and wadis. The stars of the show are the Arabian Leopards, who are just big, lazy, arrogant tarts.

You’ll find the park on the Sharjah/Dhaid highway.

While you’re there, try not to look at the awful thing on the other side of the road. It’s a monument to Sharjah being nominated UN culture capital or something like that.

Al Ain Oasis

Lush, verdant palm groves surround you as you walk through the pathways that twist around the plantations watered by a traditional falaj (waterway) irrigation system. It’s a delightful place to wander whatever the weather and is a photographer’s dream. When you’ve done wandering around the oasis (go to Al Ain and just ask around. You’ll get there eventually), then have a stab at visiting the museum, which is great. Alternatively, you can visit the Umm Al Nar tomb in Hili Park (well signposted) or take a trip up the 13km or so of winding road to the top of Jebel Hafit (or Gerbil Halfwit if you have the sense of humour of a weak-minded 8 year old, as I do) and take a gander across the rolling stretches of dunes that mark the start of the Rub Al Khali desert, crossed in the 1950s by Wilfred “The boys’ wet young thighs glistened in the sun” Thesiger.

While you’re there, look up BSS and BRN for tea. Just leave a comment on their blog and they’ll have the kettle on, I’m sure! >;0)

Jazirat Al Hamra

This little coastal village was totally deserted after the family that predominantly inhabited it fell out with the local sheikh. They decamped to Abu Dhabi in the main, leaving the village literally deserted behind them and it remains pretty much in that state today, old coral-walled houses with henna trees in their central courtyards, wired with basic electricity and three-figure ‘phone numbers installed in the richer houses. It’s a little slice of transitional UAE and it stands today. There’s a new village of Jazirat Al Hamra just on the road, just before you get to the Al Hamra Fort Hotel on the Umm Al Qawain/Ras Al Khaimah coastal road. Turn left just as you arrive at Jazirat Al Hamra and drive towards the coast and you’ll find the old village. It’s great to take a wander around and have a good old fossick: the mosque, in particular, is wonderful. The beach here is beautiful, but sadly is usually dirty with litter. After the first storm of winter, you’ll find the distinctive egg casings of the paper nautilus washed up on the beach – if you’re lucky: they’re really rare.

Khasab

Something of a hidden jewel, Khasab is the small town in the Omani enclave that sits at the tip of the Emirates promontory into the Straits of Hormuz. You just need a passport with a UAE residence visa in it and a few dirhams and you can get through the border post in minutes flat (life’s potentially a bit more complicated for visitors from overseas who should, ideally, get an Omani visa processed from their country of origin. This saves any hiccups on the day, believe me.) There are two hotels in Khasab at the time of writing, the Golden Tulip which is a slightly overpriced 3* and the Khasab Hotel, which is a clean but functional caravanserai type of affair. They’re building a new extension, so that may have changed but we’ve stayed in the old one and it’s OK for a night. They even let us cook our own barbecued dinner and breakfast as we didn’t really fancy the menu on offer!!!

Why go to Khasab? For the drives around the mad, fjord-like coastline, for the drives up into the mountains that overlook the legendary heights of Wadi Bih and the fossil fields up there. And, ultimately, to hire one of the local boats (they range from speedboats to traditional dhows) and motor out into the fantastic seascapes, passing by telegraph island (in 1886 the Brits established a telegraph cable link through the Gulf that passed through Bahrain, telegraph island then out to Bombay. A couple of Brits were stationed there and apparently used to go bonkers waiting for the 6-monthly supply ship to hove to around the corner, originating the phrase ‘going round the bend’. No, I don’t really and truly believe it either, but it’s too great a story not to tell your wide-eyed visitors!). At the end of the boat trip, you can then play with the schools of dolphins that stream through the water in the boats’ wake. A great afternoon out.

Mahatta Fort Museum

To my immense surprise, this slice of colonial history was preserved by the Sharjah Government just when it was crumbling to pieces and seemed set to be knocked down. It stands today as a great little museum to the history of flight in the region, from the Handley Page biplanes (and seaplanes) that used to connect Croydon to Queensland in the old days when a chota peg jolly well meant a chota peg.

The restoration of the fort, built originally by the ruler of Sharjah to offer protection to the passengers on the Imperial Airways route as they overnighted in Sharjah, is true to the original in every detail and is most impressive. There’s a great display of ‘planes in there, including some of the first Gulf Aviation planes (the precursor to Gulf Air) and the curators usually allow people with kids to get up in one of the riveted aluminium exhibits. Given that I occasionally have issues with trusting Airbus 321s (are you listening, Al Italia?), I can’t imagine flying in those things, really. Amaazing.

The Mahatta Fort was immortalised, incidentally, in the 1937 documentary Air Outpost by London Films under the aegis of Alexander Korda (and with a soundtrack by William Alwyn). “Thanks to the achievement of modern flight,” the soundtrack gushes in a truly Cholmondeley-Warner voice, “It’s possible to fly from Croydon to the desert Kingdom of Sharjar in just four deys!”

Imagine.

The documentary is held up as an early example of ‘true’ documentary, where the film-maker takes an unscripted approach to showing life as it truly is, which is a little dubious, but it shows not only life in the fort but Sharjah’s people and souk in a fascinating and unique piece of footage.

Mahatta is just around the corner from the ‘Blue Souk’, the Saudi Mosque, Ittihad Park and ‘Smile You’re in Sharjah’ roundabout (known to us for many years as ‘Smile You’re Insane’ roundabout). You can tell when you’re on the right road, it’s straight as a die – that’s because it is in fact the old runway. It’s the road that runs parallel to Feisal Street, going from Ittihad Park to Wahda Street, just round the corner from Mega Mall.

The Masafi Friday Market, Dafta and Bitnah

Drive from Dhaid, the inland town of Sharjah, to the mountain village of Masafi (where the water comes from) and you’ll find yourself passing through the village of Thorban as you approach the foothills. There’s an Eppco station and then, a few minutes after it, there’s a roundabout. The next turning right will lead you to the Thorban pottery – well worth a visit to see the traditional Indian kiln and the potters working away at their wheels. They export the pots from here, believe it or not!

Going on up into the mountains will take you inevitably to the Masafi Friday Market, a spontaneous growth of stalls that sprang up around the speed bumps here which sell everything from odious pots and rugs to plants and fresh fruit and vegetables from the surrounding farms. Despite the name, it’s open every day and makes for an interesting wander.

Go on up to Masafi and sling a right at the roundabout (a left will take you past the Masafi factory and then onto the delightful Indian ocean town of Dibba) and you’ll come to a village with shops either side of the road. This is Daftah. Take a left and drive up through the houses (you’ll need a little trial and error) and you’ll eventually find the track that leads up the wadi to the old deserted village of Daftah. Sadly, the great wadi here has been drained of water, but the village is worth a view.

Carry on down the road towards Fujairah through the mountains and you’ll come to the village of Bitnah. There are two things worth stopping off to see here: Bitnah Fort (drive through the village and down into the wadi bed and head right – you can’t miss it once you’re in the wadi. I’d recommend a 4WD, but a 2WD can do it if you don’t care too much about your suspension), which is an ancient looking fort (it isn’t really that old, but it’s picturesque) and the megalithic tomb. To get to the megalithic tomb, head for the base of the huge red and white telecom tower: it’s directly in line between the tower and the wadi and is protected by a fence and covered with a corrugated tin roof. You can’t get in, but this tomb is important in its way: excavated by a Swiss team in the ‘90s, it shows that the wadi from Fujeirah to Masafi was, indeed, part of a 3000 year old trade route and is one of the oldest burial sites in the UAE. It is, sadly, neglected.

Hatta

Hatta is to Dubai what Dhaid is to Sharjah (and Al Ain to Abu Dhabi): the inland oasis town that the semi-nomadic peoples of the UAE (Trucial States then, but that’s another story) used to escape to in the hot summer months. In Hatta’s case, it’s super-cool, high up in the Hajar mountains and always relatively fresh and lush compared to the arid desert plains. Hatta’s marvellous track, which led from the mountain town across the range and down to Al Ain, has sadly been turned into black-top, but it would still be a fantastic drive and you can still access the pools and side wadis.

Hatta also has an interesting Heritage Centre, which is well worth a visit, with displays of old mountain housing and the like. On holidays and high days they put on displays of dancing and stuff like that.

The Hatta Fort Hotel is well worth an overnight stay. A tiny, delightful and extraordinarily well-run hotel (kept by 19 staff – you’ll find the day’s pool attendant is the evening’s sommelier), the Hatta Fort’s food is great when they’re on their best classical fine dining form, but I wouldn’t go mad for the buffet nights. It serves the best breakfast in the Middle East.

Do ask them to knock you up a curry if you eat in the restaurant: it’s a great undiscovered wonder. And do have a drink in the unintentionally uber-funky walnut and gold ‘70s Romoul Bar upstairs from the restaurant (mourn the passing of the old cream leather sofas while you’re there). Sadly, they’ve started to renovate the hotel for some reason all of their own and the rooms have been overhauled with tacky gold-sprayed tin dog ornaments and faux leapordskin wraps stapled to the furniture, but just because that spoilt it for us doesn’t mean it has to for you!

Dibba and Wadi Bih

Dibba is a sleepy town on the Indian Ocean coast which belies a bloody past: it was here that the final great battle for the consolidation of Islam on the Gulf peninsula was fought. Get there by leaving Sharjah on the airport road towards Dhaid, and driving through to Masafi, then turning left at the Masafi roundabout.

Turn right at the dolphin roundabout in Dibba and you’ll be on the way down the East Coast road, through Khor Fakkan and down to Fujeirah. You’ll also pass the Hotel JAL Resort and Spa just as you leave town, a new development by the Japanese airline. It’s worth a stay: we went when it was soft launching and they had some teething troubles, but it seemed to have great promise and very good service indeed.

But turn left at Dolphin roundabout and you’ll be set for a trip up into the mountains. Sadly, I haven’t got space to give you infallible instructions, but find someone (or an offroad book) that will give you directions to Wadi Bih and take a drive up the most awesome wadi track in the Emirates, curling far up into the hills at the top of the Hajar mountain range. The geology alone, the mad folding rock formations and misty valley vistas, is worth the trip – and includes a drive through the largest area of denuded, uplifted seabed in the world. So there. They’re building a spa hotel by the village of Ziggi so by the time you read this they’ve probably asphalted half the track, but go anyway.

You may get turned back at the UAE/Omani border post towards the end of the track (give yourself a good hour to drive it), but if not you come out in Ras Al Khaimah.

The Souk Al Arsah

The Sharjah government started to renovate the Souk Al Arsah in the ‘90s, turning an area of broken down old coral-walled buildings into a dramatic and pretty faithful reproduction of the original Sharjah souk. Delightfully, they then let the shop units to the families that had originally owned them although many of these have now been leased out to Indian shop-owners. Some have remained as locally owned and run bric-a-brac (sorry, ‘antique’) shops and are fascinating visits. I cannot recommend a wander around this souk highly enough. Many of the old trading family houses around the souk have also been restored and are open to visit and there’s a maritime display put together by the heritage association, too, reflecting some of Sharjah’s history as a pearl diving centre. When you’ve done wandering, wander over to the Sharjah Fort, again a huge renovation project (there was only one round tower left of the original fort) that has resulted in an interesting building: although it could be a richer display than it is currently, it’s still well worth a trip to see.

Right. If that lot doesn’t get you out of the house, nothing will!

Dubai Traffic

I’m a giant, lying on a bed of cars, thrashing in my nightmare and rolling over, crushing roofs, glass splintering. I’m staggering through the traffic, snaking lines of it spiralling into a smoking, choking infinity. Effed up on something: a nasty acid badness and a metallic taste in my mouth. Sudden awareness: you don’t taste in dreams. A fear rush, then; not good on acid. Calm down before things get really twisted, you’re centred. Think of trees, sitting under trees. Woodlands, birds singing; the hills and Julie Andrews.

Shit, that was a mistake. Julie Andrews has ripped me out of slomo and brought me in a rush back to realtime like a webcam taped to the front of the Kyoto Bullet train and I’m back, staggering in the grey smog, cars jostling around me.

It’s bumper to bumper and they’re aggressive: I can see one face snarling out of a window at me, blank-eyed, lycanthropic and dripping streams of saliva from the yellowed teeth revealed by its drawn back lips. I stumble backwards in fear, hit another car moving slowly behind me, a horn loud and piercing my ears as I start to lose my legs and drop to my knees. I can hear an insane keening, a banshee howl of pain and realise it’s my own voice, faltering now that I'm collapsing, choking on the thick, billowing fumes. I’m down on my belly trying to get up but I can’t move. I can feel it looming over me and the bumper nudges the back of my head as the wheel starts to roll up my leg. I can feel the slow, rolling pressure crushing my ankle, squeezing my calf muscle and veins popping...

It’s true, you know. Dubai’s traffic is a nightmare…

The Winds of Change Blow Forever Strong

Well, change IS afoot in the Middle East! The UAE moved to an official Friday/Saturday weekend last year, reversing an earlier decision that had explicitly laid down that government ministries and associated private sector organisations (such as schools) should follow a Thursday/Friday weekend. The move to enforce the 'traditional' weekend followed a long, slow de facto movement to a Friday/Saturday weekend by the private sector, principally led by media and ICT companies in the UAE.

The latest move to a Friday/Saturday weekend was very good news for those of us married to teachers. Now we have the same weekend and that's a nice thing.

Jordan and Egypt, lest we forget, have Friday/Saturday weekends, too (and Lebanon has Saturday/Sunday, just to be, euft, different). With Bahrain and Qatar having made the same move as the UAE last year, those following the 'old fashioned' Thursday/Friday weekend were in the minority.

So now comes the news that Kuwait has made the move, despite some localised opposition, to a Friday/Saturday weekend. And even business people in Saudi Arabia are, according to Gulf News' correspondent, pushing for the weekend to change.

Despite the assertion made by some that the change is pandering to the West (because, of course, the West gives a hoot what weekend we have) the new weekend preserves the Muslim Holy Day of Friday as well as giving the region an extra days' effective trading with partners in the US, Europe and Asia.

What's perhaps interesting is that the 'traditional' weekend that the new Friday/Saturday weekend replaces was in fact a 1 1/2 day one: Thursday afternoon and Friday. So, of course, many companies still continue to work the 'old' weekend - because they don't want to give their staff the extra half day off.

Update: Those Lucky Workers!

Here's the link to that wonderful story in Xpress about labour accommodation.

Dubai Workers Enjoy Five Star Lifestyle

This morning's Xpress, the weekly magapaper thingy from Al Nisr Media, carries a front cover story that had me feeling distinctly uneasy.

I'd link to the image splashed across the front page, of four workers 'unwinding in the gym', except the website doesn't have this week's issue on it yet. But believe me, it's there. Four wooden looking blokes who don't look at all like they've just been thrown in there for the photographer, using the latest in walking/pedalling/weight lifting machinery. I'm not quite sure why I find the image staged and unsettling. Perhaps it's because we all see these blokes labouring in the heat and humidity shifting wheelbarrows, blocks and rebar by the tonne. What more could you want after a hard day labouring in the sun than a smashing workout to really get those muscles toned, after all?

The story attached to this worrying image is even more fascinating. Apparently the ETA Ascon labour camp in the infamous Sonapur labour camp area is one of the leading 'top class' labour camps with facilities that 'rival those of the city's exclusive gated communities' according to the paper. While any improvement in labour standards has to be a good thing (and Dubai Municipality has moved to regulate for better standards), one would be forgiven for being rather taken aback at this absurd comparison.

Akbar Khan, executive director at ETA Ascon, dismisses a suggestion that improvements in labour accommodation are due to negative press about workers' living conditions. Surrounded by pictures of the awkward-looking labourers posed in their bunk beds or outside in the labour camp, the assertion somehow fails to make its mark.

The ETA Ascon camp not only has a gym, ATMs and other facilities. It also has 62 CCTV cameras according to Xpress. I think this fact alone speaks to my general sense of unease at the story.

It would be so much more impressive to see a more deftly communicated proposition from the companies involved, with less staged pictures and less obviously credulous journalism. Then the fact that improvements are taking place would carry infinitely more credibility.

Ships of the Desert

According to Time Middle East's Scott MacLeod, a mystery ailment has killed almost 2,000 Saudi camels: tainted feed is suspected. In his piece MacLeod attempts to underline the importance of camels to the Saudis: there are apparently just under a million of them in the Kingdom.

It all brought to mind a story I was told many years ago by an experienced Middle East lawyer from a British law firm. His firm had been called in to defend a major oil company against an angry Bedouin tribe which had lost one of its prize racing camels in a tar pit owned by the company.

Getting to court, our man was surprised to find himself up against the tribal poet, who apparently waxed most lyrical and at considerable length on the grace, beauty and sheer delightfulness of the deceased beast, leaving not a dry eye in the house. Of course, the highly esteemed (and as highly paid) counsel flown in from London didn't stand a chance and lost the case hands down.

Back to Life: Back to Unreality

Watched Chaos on the plane back. Jason Statham. I can’t quite believe that I’ve an appetite for Jason Statham films but I do: even the mad, badly scripted Transporter in which Statham does a strange mid-Atlantic accent that doesn’t quite patch over his Cockney roots. I only ever watch films on the ‘plane (bar the occasional DVD buy): I’d be furious if I’d paid to see most of the crap I’ve watched. If I’d paid to see Shrek III, for instance, I’d have been at the box office demanding a refund with threats.
Talking of threats: why do UK immigration and security have those signs that say their staff have the right to work in a safe environment and if they’re presented with foul or abusive language and threatening behaviour you’ll be in for the high jump? I’m suffering from the deep seated need to enter the UK next time wearing a sign that says: “I have the right not to have to deal with overbearing, officious, brusque, superior and downright rude tossers and to react negatively if I am presented with such situations.”
I wonder if anyone would bother reading it…
Back to airline movies. I caught the end of the Nicholas Cage one about him being able to tell the future. It wasn’t great, but I’m a little biased: I still haven’t forgiven Cage for fronting the Hollywood sanitised Captain Corelli’s Mandolin. I can’t believe that Louis De Bernières, an author I have so much respect for, let that happen, but then he’s minted and I’m not and if I think he sold out his integrity over a sorry adaptation and a horribly mutilated ending that negated the entire purpose of a great book, then I’m quite, quite sure he don’t care.
BTW: De Bernières Little Birds buys forgiveness for all sins: a terrible, beautiful book that tells the story of the Anatolian massacres with heart-breaking skill and panache. He paints with words like Durrell when he wants to.
Back to airline movies. I enjoyed all of the Pirates of the Caribbean films. I think only because Johnny Depp is so fundamentally mesmerising. Someone mad and dangerous enough to have Hunter Thompson confer the honorific ‘Dr’ upon him must be a man apart, though. I wonder if Depp ever met Steadman?
There was a waiter in Italy (at the Irish Society Wedding of the Year) that looked a bit Deppish. He was convinced that his curly-haired good looks had Sarah in a tizz. Sad for him: it was because he was in charge of doling out the (excellent quality) Prosecco and our girl is a devil for da bubbles. She'd flirt with a tramp if he was toting a frosty bottle of DP rosé...
Anyway. We’re back here now. Buckle in for at least a week’s worth of black and snarly posts as the reality of life back in Lalaland bites…

Gosh! Blighty!

Off to The Berkeley for a couple of nights to attend the nuptials of pals Jo and Carl. The Maktoums have taken the top floor. Knightsbridge is so Arab we feel totally at home. Breakfasts at Harvey Nicks are great: the organic cafe on the 5th floor with food that explodes after our normal diet of greenhouse-reared, air-freighted food. A spin over to Wales to Casa McNabb Senior. Awful weather predicted for the journey back tomorrow. Everything's green and terribly well off.
It's strange, this going home. Everyone's pleased to see you, you've saved up and you've got cash in pocket. You do things you normally wouldn't do, blow money you wouldn't normally blow: live it up a little. Home's home comforts abound. And then you start thinking you'd like to move back, a few dangerous moments before you realise that life back down home on the farm would be perhaps a little bit different if it were the stuff of everyday life. If you were ripping yourself out of bed every driecht winter morning to plod down to the tube: just another number in the jostling crowds of pale-faced anonydrones swaying with the movements of the train, staring up at the tube map, counting rivets. Anything to avoid eye contact.
Back to lotus eating, then...

Aquafina - Artificially Mineralised Water, Anyone?

Aquafina is a bottled water that's sold in the UAE. It's one of a couple of strange sidelines operated by Pepsico, the people that bring you carbonated water, sugar, phosphoric acid and caramel under the brand Pepsi Cola. They also produce a brand of basmati rice sold in the UAE, for some bizarre reason.

Aquafina has been outed by US based action group Corporate Accountability International, which has been making something of a song and dance about the fact that water from public sources is being bottled by companies branding what is effectively tap water masquerading as spring water. Their point, a fair one really, is that selling tap water under brands that reinforce a strong association with purity, freshness, mountains, green hillsides and all that sort of stuff is misleading. It has to be said that they're not really that worried about the stuff we buy here in the UAE - water under the Aquafina brand is sold in the USA and, we can safely assume, a rather larger volume of the stuff is shipping over there than here.

There is a fine distinction involved here. Water sold as spring water or mineral water must come from a natural source. But Aquafina is not sold as spring water. It is sold as 'pure drinking water'. I'd always assumed it was a by-product of purifying the water needed to produce the Middle East's favourite cola, 'Bebzi', but apparently not.

Pepsico's UAE franchisee, Dubai Refreshments, has moved swiftly in reaction to the 'Aquafina is tap water' charge by arranging a press trip to its facility in Dibba to show press that Aquafina is sourced from underground and is not tap water. The press duly turned up and were taken around the factory and the report is in today's media. They were shown 'two wooden boxes with pipes leading from them', assured by the manager that this was an underground source and handed a statement from the Dibba Municipality that asserts that the water is produced from an underground source inside the premises of the factory.

In a moment of magically skewed messaging, the manager of the factory assured media that "Even the water in our toilets is from the wells."

The end of Gulf News' report is, I think, the most telling part of the story. To quote GN, whose story is linked here (and which I highly recommend, just so you can read between any lines you might find in the carefully worded statement from the Municipality): "...the water's total dissolved solids (TDS) can be anything from 400 to 1200 parts per million (PPM) when it is first pumped but this is reduced to nil before salts and minerals, provided by Pepsico International, are injected in the water. The final TDS count in Aquafina is 120ppm." (My italics, BTW)

Funnily enough, the claimed TDS count on Aquafina's label is 110ppm. Putting that discrepancy aside, we have a water that is labelled, similarly to mineral waters, with its mineral content displayed on the label. But we now know that this mineral content is added by the bottler to water that has been treated to remove a high content of dissolved solids.

The question of source is almost irrelevant now: Gulf News' report makes it clear (although not as clear as some may have liked or expected) that Aquafina is treated water that has been artificially mineralised. But what interests me is that the media didn't do the one thing that would get to the bottom of the question of Aquafina's source and purity for once and for all: take it to a lab and have it analysed.

My pal Scott, a qualified chemist, worked in a testing lab here in the Emirates for a couple of years and would only ever drink Masafi. It was the only bottled water in the Emirates, he used to say, that contained what it said it contained on the label. I've tended to go with that advice myself...