"Genuine knockoffs," anyone?

So yesterday I made my second visit to the shopping district called Karama.  (No, I am not sure if that is the correct spelling.  In fact, I'm not even sure thats the correct name, since the only people who have spoken it to me are The German, Z-Man, and Alice, all of whom have not-insignificant accents.  But you get the gist.)

Anyway, Karama is known for it's high-quality knockoffs.  Handbags, suitcases, watches, sunglasses, clothes... pretty much anything that can hold a designer label has been ripped off there.  As you walk down the (slightly seedy) promenade, countless men on either side of you call out tempting advertisements: "Lady!  Lady!  Come look at these leather purses!" "Madam, step inside, look at what is new!" and our collective favorite: "Genuine imitations!  Genuine imitations!"  The fun of the place is not only haggling great prices for good-looking merchandise and souvenirs, but also trying to correctly guess which storefronts have "secret rooms" in the back or upstairs.  The secret rooms hide away the knockoffs for which there are particularly strict penalties due to aggressive brand protection.  It's a thrill to receive an invitation to "see more upstairs," as much because of the potential treasures that await you as because of the teeny rush of adrenaline you get when the hidden door in the wall opens, you step inside, and don't feel *entirely* certain that you will ever be heard from again.

What prompted yesterday's visit was a slightly unexpected but entirely enjoyable visit by none other than the original Supernanny!  Airfare was low and her schedule free and, to the extent it is possible to take an impromptu visit to the other side of the planet, a few keystrokes on Expedia later and Supernanny was on our front doorstep.  Of course I cried upon greeting her-- the children have been running me so ragged with all the tantrums and sleep strikes (I swear they adhere to some written rotating schedule of misbehavior; how the two older rugrats consistently get a 9-month-old baby to do her part on her designated day will always be a mystery to me) that it was an unspeakable gift to be able to hand them over, albeit temporarily, to the ultimate childcare professional.

The best part of my quick Karama run with Supernanny was not the handbag guy or the woodwork guy (imagine my dismay when I got home only to find that the antique wooden telephone I had purchased has no ring feature, hmmm)-- but the too-good-to-be-true bootleg DVD guy!  It seems I just can't stay away from illegal movies even if I tried!  We were just strolling along, minding our own business, when amidst the proud, articulate announcements of the storefront salesmen, there was a low, almost imperceptible siren song: "movies... movies... movies..."  I turned to see a dark man skulking along beside us, seemingly impersonating a New York City drug dealer.  My first instinct was to shoo him away with my reflexive, "No thank you," but moments later, I found myself tracking him back down like the addict I truly am.  After all, with only 22 movies left to watch, I obviously needed more!  

Movie Guy led us into a shop populated mostly by handbags and sunglasses, and headed towards a dilapidated staircase in the back.  Oooh, secret room time!  But this was unlike any of the secret rooms I had visited while previously shopping with The German: those rooms were comically low-ceilinged (let's just say the dimensions bothered some of us more than others) but at least clean.  This room, on the other hand, was utter disaster (see middle photo; take particular pause at the broke-down sofa where we were expected to do our DVD perusing). I snapped the picture while Movie Guy was leaning down to retrieve the ubiquitous duffle bag of pirated films, though by the time Supernanny had fished her camera out of her purse, he was already hissing, "No photos!  No photos!"  You can tell that the fear of being busted by the police is very real for these peddlers, and everyone is suspect.  (I, meanwhile, vow to do my conspiratorial part to make sure that their illegal business prospers for a long, long time.)

As we were silently and intently rifling through the piles of films (no talking! this is serious business!), I heard a door close.  In my peripheral vision, the figure of a man appeared.  I instantly resigned myself to being sold into prostitution.  I mean, being there just the two of us was knowingly a little bit nuts: I'd been reading about how prevalent human trafficking is in this part of the world, and how young women can be lured into the hands of their captors under the most innocent of false pretenses (DVD sales?!) before simply disappearing off the face of the earth.  So I held my breath and kept my eyes down and awaited the inevitable bad news... only to be *massively* relieved when the guy sat down in the rickety chair next to us and accepted his own stack of DVDs.  Ah, a fellow sinner.  Whew!  I felt an instant, shamed kinship with him not unlike what I imagine people feel towards each other in an AA meeting:  Welcome, my brother.  Do you need a copy of "Rachel Getting Married"?

So Karama was great and today Supernanny is taking a skiing lesson at Ski Dubai (where better to put on skis for the first time than in the desert?) and tonight I think I will take her to Global Village (might as well see it one last time before it closes down next week).  Her visit proves that, aside from the jetlag, it's remarkably feasible to pop over for a hello.  So if you are even remotely considering visiting us, please do! 

What else is news...

Well, we are all more than a little disappointed by the recent news story about the UAE denying a visa to that Israeli woman who was supposed to compete in a tennis tournament here... jeez, it's one thing to privately dislike the News but it's another to make a public demonstration out of turning them away.  We were similarly discouraged when my buddy Seacrest just forwarded an article describing how an author was disqualified from showcasing her novel at an upcoming Dubai literary festival, simply because her book included a gay character.  Talk about steps in the wrong direction.  In fact, the longer I'm here, the more I am starting to see some cracks in the facade... Dubai puts on a great show of inclusivity and progressive policy, but it's becoming clear that a latent but insidious intolerance-- and even willful ignorance-- still remains entrenched in the social fabric here.  (For example, a friend suggested to me that the reason domestic violence statistics are so low for this region is because no one has ever invested the resources necessary to gather accurate statistical data regarding the scope of the problem.)  Bummer.

What else.  Well, I got my car, hooray!  We bid a happy farewell to that awful white minivan that we'd been renting for the past three months, and gleefully stepped inside my brand new (!!!) family car of choice: the super zzzzzexy Chevy Uplander!  (Yes, the same car I had back in the States; yes, the same one that had me being frequently mistaken for the cable repair guy upon arrival anywhere).  It is gold, it is shiny, it has a DVD player, it is heaven.

Other things.  Sushi has an interview next week for one of the schools she is applying to next fall.... Baby has learned how to clap, and wave (kinda: she bobs her closed hand up and down at you, which we interpret to be a precocious and politically savvy nod to the Obama fist bump).... and Screamer is putting the finishing touches on her version of the banshee temper tantrum, despite my hopeful (and ultimately erroneous) protestations that it simply wasn't in her DNA to embrace the terrible two's.  PopPop and I finally made it back to Abu Dhabi to obtain our UAE drivers' licenses.... I am still semi-seriously hunting for a second maid.... and Alice and Z-Man continue to wage a subtle but unmistakable war on each other's credibility and reputation (I'm considering selling "Team Alice" and "Team Z-Man" shirts; pre-order yours now).

Ok, gotta go... BTW Daddy leaves next week for a 1o-day business trip... wish us luck holding down the fort in his absence... Talk soon!

UPDATE: I was able to locate the complete statement issued by the "organizers" of the Dubai Tennis Championship regarding the UAE's refusal to issue a visa to Israeli athlete Shahar Peer (it seems that only excerpts were released by the U.S. media?).  The statement reads:

     "The tournament is a long-standing and loyal supporter of women's tennis and the WTA Tour and respects the rules and regulations of the Tour.

     The tournament also respects Shahar Peer as a professional tennis player on the Tour and understands her disappointment.  There were several elements to be considered concerning her participation:

     Public sentiment remains high in the Middle East and it is believed that Ms. Peer's presence would have antagonized our fans who have watched live television coverage of the recent attacks in Gaza.

     Ms. Peer personally witnessed protests against her at another tournament in New Zealand only a few weeks ago.

     Concern was raised about her well-being and her presence triggering similar protests. Given public sentiment, the entire tournament could have been boycotted by protesters.

     We do not wish to politicize sports, but we have to be sensitive to recent events in the region and not alienate or put at risk the players and the many tennis fans of different nationalities that we have here in the UAE."

What do you think?  Copout?  Or is there some validity to the closing paragraph of an op-ed piece I recently read which said, 

     "Personally I would have no problem with Shahar Peer . . . playing tennis in Dubai if at the same time Israel allowed Palestinians to compete in their sporting events without interference and humiliation.  Generally being treated like human beings would also be appreciated.  The ball is in your court."  

Does that really happen at Israeli sporting events?  I don't know.  I can't help feeling like my opinions are, once again, being impaired by a not-unbiased media and an overall lack of complete information... aargh.  As the much-maligned and vastly misunderstood talking Barbie would say, "Math class is tough."  I hear ya, Barbs.  I hear ya.