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Star blog: Experiencing Ski Dubai
We had a lot of fun on our first experience of Ski Dubai! Natalie had a private lesson and did pretty well for her first try.
She decided after an hour of lessons that she was ready to go down the mountain, so she and Danny went up the slope and she eventually made it down after a few falls, but no broken bones…and wanting more lessons!
The mountain has a few different slopes to go down and they start at Blue...no greens for the new skiers. It was pretty cold in there! (How else are they going to make snow and ice?)
You would never know you were in the desert. So if anyone wants to come for a visit...we can show you how to ski in the desert! The t-shirts said: The Coolest thing to do in Dubai.
I would have to agree!
http://davidsonfam4.blogspot.com
A different beauty contest
Two days ago, a contest for the most beautiful goat in the world was held in Saudi Arabia. It has got to be the strangest beauty contest I've ever heard of. I wonder if anyone else thinks those are some of the weirdest looking goats?
http://www.248am.com/mark/news/the-most-beautiful-goat-in-the-world/
A little slice of Fujairah
Perfect fathers are worshipped, their replicas cemented on pedestals. Mine was cunning, conniving, and more or less atrocious. Responsible dads are forever visible on every occasion; mine never even walked with me down the aisle.
Jurassic days with my dad were a blur. During my formative years, Chandy (I called him that) was fondly remembered as my driver to school, my math tutor (he was a whiz), my chess mentor (he ate pawns and kings), my singing coach (he loved Usahay), and my Shrink. When he left our dysfunctional family, we remained so.
I only spent a quarter of my lifetime with him and the rest of the years were spent picking up the pieces. Every birthday, my only wish was his "welcome-back party". I stopped hoping. Like a thief, he would unexpectedly reappear and barge in my comfort zone and gave introductions to my half-siblings. Oh, he was generous with his genes, too.
One glorious day, he bravely appeared at our doorstep, wearing his fave shoes (Mum's once-upon-a-time gift). On bended knees, he asked forgiveness. It was surreal. This was a box office hit. Sincerity questioned, it may have fallen into deaf ears.
But, it was closure, nevertheless. "I will not see you for a long time," he said to me. For a moment, I did not panic. Maybe, I will see him in a decade or two. Perhaps, never. For the first time, somehow I felt whole again, for in my heart... this was his homecoming.
http://dr_ncatigbe.blogs.friendster.com
Seven things that scare me
- I am scared of lizards. Sorry Dougie, I would never go to your lizardtopia unless you're there
- All creepy crawlies in the red zone of mine
- Getting dumped. It is seriously not a nice feeling.
- Having a hideous scar on my face. It is totally not okay and I will never undergo plastic surgery
- Being obese. I am sorry but I get dreams of me being really fat and can't walk through the doorway and stuff.
- The death of loved ones
- Being maligned for no reason
http://wonkyrecords.livejournal.com/4294
Lost in translation
Last week in Arabic class, my teacher Mohammad Ali taught me an interesting new word. It was the one that was supposed to describe why Yousuf, our Arabic book's protagonist, was going in and out of the bathroom, holding his tummy.
"Diarrhoea?" I volunteered. He shook his head, frowning.
"Constipation?" He nodded and smiled. This time, I frowned. Why in the world would Yousuf go in and out of the bathroom if he was constipated?
"Eshaal," he said. I'm never going to remember that, I remember thinking. I didn't need to remember how to stay "constipation" — I had the complete opposite: the runs.
"What's the word for diarrhoea?" I asked. He didn't reply. Just smiled.
http://www.kabobfest.com/2008/06/mohammed-ali-and-i-get-lost-in.htm l
Abandoned
I've always been fascinated by abandoned spaces. There's a certain charm to them, the charm of a place that was once a person's warm, loving home. The charm of walls that saw intimacy that outsiders have never seen.
When I pass by an abandoned space, especially in once very beautiful neighbourhoods, I always stop and try to imagine what it was like when the gardens were green, and a family sat and had coffee in the courtyard.
Yet, most of these spaces are impersonal to me. For the most part, the days of their glory came to pass before I reached maturity. My fascination with them is just that of an outsider, trying to imagine what it would have been like to be a part of that space before it was abandoned.
http://andfaraway.net/blog
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