abu dhabi v. kuwait impressions
airport roads

"sepia night"

I love Abu Dhabi now. It certainly has become home, and in fact I've lived here longer than I lived in Kuwait. When I come home from home (that is, return to Abu Dhabi after going to the States for a holiday), what I notice driving in from the airport is the heavily treed sides of the long broad road, the heaviness of the air which gives the night (I always arrive at night) a brown foggy appearance, sepia, which is quite cozy. It certainly is warm, in actuality as well as feeling. The buildings, which increase in density the nearer in we get, also have a sepia, soft glow in the dim street lighting of the outer streets. Meanwhile, as I observe this, my sense of anticipation of home is building-because I'm tired and ready to hit my own bed, but also because of being soon reunited with Rasha, who will no doubt be equally pleased but will mix her welcoming meows with a quavering tone which seems to say, "how could you have left me?"

"orange taxi"

I had no such cat anticipation in Kuwait-I always resisted getting one there because our summer vacations were so long that I couldn't imagine what to do with one over that annual hiatus from real life (or was it the other way around-that being in Kuwait was the hiatus?). But I can still picture that nighttime sweep into Kuwait City from the airport. It was full of excitement and thrills. First, there was the literally oven-like blast of heat upon emerging from the airport; then flagging the Kuwaiti driven orange taxi and practicing my "taxi Arabic" while trying not to encourage too much conversation which might give that man the wrong idea in a situation where I'm pretty much in his power, shut up alone on a journey through the empty desert in his high powered car (taxis, and many other Arab owned cars, were almost inevitably "Chefers"-Chevrolet Caprice Classics). There was also the feeling of triumph and smugness to savor, while encapsulated in the back seat of that machine catapulting into the city, if I had managed to successfully smuggle a bottle or two of duty free hooch past customs. (Actually, it wasn't usually so much getting it past them, as their letting it past, out of leniency to us poor, dry mouthed English teachers, many of whom had taught a few of those customs officers at the university at some point over the years. Kuwait, of course, is "dry.") Anyway, I'd be snug in the back of the dark taxi, listening to Arabic music on the radio or a cassette, exchanging a few pleasantries in Arabic with the driver while trying not to distract or attract him, thinking about my suitcase in the trunk, full of goodies brought back from a summer's shopping in the States, and noticing the first milestone-the red neon "Welcome to Kuwait" sign (in English and Arabic) just outside the airport. The fast road sweeps out elegantly across the open desert, with the glow in the black sky from the city lights ahead. Thrilling, somehow.

and waterfronts

"red tiled walkway"

My first daytime impression of Abu Dhabi was not particularly favorable. I was anxious to see its sea front, and must say I was disappointed. It is very civilized, compared to Kuwait's coastline as it was in the 80's. It was only 2 or 3 years later, when I started walking along the Abu Dhabi corniche the 3 miles from the college to home, that I began to appreciate it for what it is. Finally it struck me at that it is like the picturesque European waterfronts I've loved in Greece, Turkey, Cyprus, and Spain, with its red tiled walkway and little parks with benches, gazebos, and fountains. People lean against the railing and fish. Once, I had to pick my way through fish which had been pulled out of the water and just tossed over the fisherman's shoulder, seemingly without him even turning around to unhook them or even to look where they landed, for they were scattered all over the pavement. And I'll never forget the sight I had one late afternoon of more than a dozen white, full, triangular sails gathered on the water to pass through the narrow inlet to the harbor. The sun was on the horizon behind them, backlighting the sails against an increasingly orange sky, as the boats seemed to elbow each other, sails akimbo, to get through first towards the finish line of their race.

"long, rugged coastline"

Kuwait's coastline is quite different-much bigger. It's long, rugged, beautful and my life was lived along it. I lived beside the coast, overlooking the Arabian Gulf (whose moods and states I've written about in my Kuwait diary); I drove to work along the coast road; and my place of work (Kuwait University Shuwaikh campus) was beside the port. At certain times of the year I could see flamingos feeding in the shallow water near the campus road I took to the back gate exit. I seemed never to be out of sight of the sea. It was part of my existence there yet I never took it for granted or failed to notice what it was doing on any given day. I remember strolling down Salmiya blazjat on hot evenings, and one time in particular, during the first month I lived in Kuwait, walking out a long breakwater into the dark sea and picking my way onto the cement pilings to the edge of the water to sit among the silent lone fishermen there. I was looking out into the infinite darkness of the sea's night horizon thinking, "home is out there, half a world away." In fact, it turns out, I was looking towards Iran. Other memories of the Salmiya blazjat: the sheesha coffeehouse there-how cheerful it looked at night, especially with all those men sitting around outside ; the Kuwaiti ladies swimming at the beach, wearing their billowing abayahs in the water, looking every bit like Ophelias in black; the friendly guys, who followed relentlessly; the Hardee's fast food restaurant, where the guy in the paper hat behind the counter would call his male customer "hebibi" which means "my love." That Hardee's was later bombed out and the last time I saw it, there was a British tank parked outside it.

june 4, 1999

Šjanice adams
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