Think ring-tones. Not the kind that sounds when someone is calling you, but the kind you hear on the other end of the line, when you’re calling someone.
On her second day in Abu Dhabi, Elest encounters the painful reality of a world in which the standard ring-tone is not an indelible fact. (Yes, I often write about myself in the third person; it’s very liberating). She very nearly experiences a paradigm shift when instead of the usual sonorous double ring, a painfully enthusiastic Indian lady speaks to her. The lady says this: ‘If you want to copy this tune, press starr!’ And she’s followed by a high-pitched Bollywood singer, pouring her heart and soul into Elest’s ill-prepared ear. Finally, the man responsible for this aural abuse answers the phone. He is a property agent, and by definition of his purpose in life, he will help Elest and her cat find somewhere to call home. Apparently. Because this is not what materialises. Instead, he gets her into a taxi, which he eventually makes her pay for, and shows her a string of apartments, each more dingy than the last. The optimism wears out quickly, and Elest finds herself checking off all the reasons why she can’t just grin and bear one:
1 Man in wife-beater and sarong, smoking in the emergency stairwell. Check.
2 An overwhelmingly pungent smell of cooking mixed with something inedible. Check.
3 Large families living with their doors open, and demonstrating a tendency to spill out into the landing. Check.
4 Suspicious looking characters ambling aimlessly about the corridors. Check.
The list goes on until she’s distracted by a sign on the entrance notice-board. To the bemusement of Mr. Property Agent, she takes a picture to preserve her own sanity.
This time last week, Elest was back at home complaining about the weather. Now she’s in the UAE complaining about the air-conditioning. Add to that the high property prices, and bad estate agents, and what in God’s name is in the water?! The point I’m trying to make here is that Reforming-Goth-Londoner’s are a grim lot, and you can never change one.
Instead, you can change the scenery around said Reforming-Goth-Londoner and have a good laugh at her expense as she tries to keep down the culture shock and cling onto her Reforming-Goth-London ways.
Lucky for Elest though, she also happens to be Turkish. And it’s the Anatolian roots which help her save face in those ‘sore-thumb’ situations (Turks being a braver race, thanks to an innate streak of madness.) The same Anatolian roots are responsible for a nostalgic stirring, when Elest hears the call to Maghreb prayer sound, as she steps out for a much needed breather at the end of her first day at Time Out Abu Dhabi. The sound inspires a sense of belonging, and feels for an instant like it’s meant specifically for her. It tells her, in so many words, that she’ll not only survive this place, but appreciate it to boot. It also tells her to go pray that she finds a decent apartment soon.
