Our day started out with a purpose – “Now I have my residency” says the Sheik of my dreams, “I will sponsor you to be part of the hareem”. (Actually I am the only member of the hareem, but I allow him to dream also). “We are off to Dubai my dear, where I will whisk you to the Department of Immigration, supply them with my labour contract, our passports and some local treasure and you will magically become a resident of this wonderful land in a couple of days. My beneficence will be magnified with a visit to the Dubai Factory Outlet where I will adorn you with wonderful new clothing befitting your status as newly admitted Princess of Arabia”
So onto the flying carpet (gutless Mazda 3 with beeping alarm when in excess of 120 kmh) and off we fly to Dubai, some 122 kilometres away, our trusty water bottles and a couple of apples for sustenance on the way. We whiz by the said factory outlets at about 135 kmh and the Sheik makes promises of spending hours there once the business is completed.
Entering Dubai is like entering a strange futuristic city. The roads lead nowhere, the signposts are placed to mislead and deceive. Strange machinery fills the skyline resembling something from a sci-fi novel. Gantries, cranes, mixers, belchers, shovelers and an army of poor enslaved menials from the subcontinent abound. The dust forms a haze that makes it barely possible to see the buildings that herald the determined and unquestionable drive to develop the magnificence of the city. Zipping along the freeway we observe the effort to bring snow to the desert and know that this is the point where we leave the freeway and enter the mysterious back alleys and side lanes of the souks of industry!
The Sheik takes command of the carpet and we seek out our first genie, Matthew, who is to oil the wheels of bureaucracy and start the process for us. “Do you have your Marriage certificate?” asks the Genie. “Allah be praised!” says the Sheik, “I have left it at the desert camp. What can we do genie for the fair princess and I are going to Turkey on the weekend and without her residence she can not re-enter the country?” The genie admits this magic is beyond his capacity and though he phones the head genie in Abu Dhabi and discusses all the options for powerful genie magic he is unable to provide the right spell to undo the dunderheaded Sheik’s forgetful memory and consequences. His advice is to go see the head genie, Samir of Abu Dhabi, and see if he can solve the problem with his extra strong magic and extremely powerful influence.
So we swig a mouthful or two of water (in private as it is Ramadan and we do not want to offend our local hosts), hop back on the magic carpet, renegotiate the industrial souk and find our selves flying along the coast to Abu Dhabi to seek out the advice of the head genie. Between bites of apples (taken only at moments when other magic flying carpets are not in sight) we listen to the less than Arabian Michael Buble at top volume to drown out the alarming speed warning which seems to be stuck on the magic carpet. Another 124 kilometres added to the odometer of the MFC (magic flying carpet) and we find ourselves at the Head Office of the Supreme Genie named Samir.
Hurried consultations take place as the sun is passing it’s zenith and the camels at the Department of Immigration retire for the afternoon and refuse to do any more work today. A decision is made to renew the visit visa of the princess as the quickest and most efficient and less risky (to the Turkey trip) strategy. Although an expensive option it is considered the quickest way to solve the dilemma. The other option was to return to Al Ain, cross the border into Oman, have a new visit visa endorsed and return home. However this option was apparently fraught with lots of unknown repercussions related to health insurance and timeliness of approvals and the fact that it is Ramadan and the wheels move very slowly right now! The gracious head genie decides he will accompany us to the Department as he is confident our grasp of the local language will have us at the Department for days if left to our own devices.
On approaching the hallowed halls of the Ministry of the Interior the genie asks directions. One of the camel keepers proves to be helpful, but the camels are unpredictable characters and despite the best efforts of the camel keeper to describe the process, the camels have different ideas about how the job should be done. So we wander from the Health Insurance camels to the lovely ladies in veils who type the applications for the camels to approve and stamp. The princess is left with the ladies while the Sheik and the genie go off to negotiate the true price and the true process and have the documents photocopied and attested and stamped and approved, before entering the next camel enclosure for further negotiations.
Now this wandering between enclosures takes about 2 hours and each camel has a different version of the best way to undertake a visa renewal. However we finally make it to the enclosure of the chief camel (who actually resembles Jabba the Hut of another fairytale!) This camel is besieged by many other petitioners for visa renewal and he has handed out numbers to assist in keeping the petitioners in line. However the petitioners do not wish to use the numbers and Jabba spends long moments with his fingers in his ears and shaking his head as petitioners jump the queues and asks questions while he is trying to put order into the process. Poor Jabba looked like he was near explosion, he got up, went out the back, beseeched Allah for patience and enlisted the assistance of a camel keeper to herd the petitioners. At this stage the genie threw his hands in the air and said no magic could ever make this better and he returned to the genie office to await our advice on completion of the task.
My Sheik patiently waited and asserted his influence from time to time on the unruly petitioners, pouring oil (because Sheiks have lots of oil) on troubled waters and greasing squeaky cogs to calm the atmosphere and ensure fair play.
By about 3.30 pm (and long after the camel enclosure should have been closed) my dashing Sheik emerged triumphant with a newly stamped visa in his hand and 700 dirham in the camel enclosure to keep the camels happy. The only thing to do now was to celebrate with a nice cool ale – well so we thought!
Ales are not served in Ramadan except in secret desert caves. However we found a curtained enclosure operated by heathen monks on the Corniche. Still no ales but at least some water, coffee and a salad with chips. We then strolled the Al Wahda Mall in deference to the princess missing out on the Dubai Factory Outlets and hopped back on the MFC to return to Al Ain – some 143 klms away. The sheik and the princess were very tired, but very happy that they had successfully negotiated with the camels, assisted by the wonderful chief genie and the princess is now able to go to Turkey!
Allah be praised! The fairy princess has traveled to Turkey upon her camel with her handsome sheik and she has now been bestowed many brownie points to enable her future purchases of fabulous jewels and baubles at the DFO's. A lovely tale indeedy.
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