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Along with such changes to our lifestyles in a city
that's moving so quickly, come the constant reminders
that life here is a world away from the one a lot of
us left behind in our home-countries.
 Whilst
pondering my future and consequentially of course, the
meaning of life, over a tuna sandwich on my lunch break
yesterday, I felt the urge to note these major differences,
so I'd always remember the spiritual (and physical)
distance I've traveled in the space of one short year.
Only… because I was hungry, it kind of came out
about food.
Still, it helps to start somewhere, so let us take
a look at that solitary hour in time that many of us
- the whole world over - choose to ignore; the lunch
break. Just how can two cities offer two such different
experiences?
Lunch hour in London:
Step 1: Exit office via lift, step onto street outside.
Step 2: Break into instant goosebumps, folding arms
against chest and performing high-pitched 'brrrrrrrrr'
noise for added acknowledgement of rubbish weather.
Step 3: Walk/run round corner towards nearest shop featuring
pre-determined, desired edibles.
Step 4: Glare at local 'suits', all with more money
than me.
Step 5: Peruse the numerous sandwich, salad, sushi,
burger, chips, quiche, Chinese, Indian, Thai etc, options
on offer. Make purchase.
Step 6: Head to TopShop/Zara/Sainsburys/New Look/Accessorize
etc.
Step 7: Glare at local 'suits', all with more money
than me.
Step 8: Spend unjustifiable amount on Visa card just
because it's an easy and adrenaline-packed form of escapism
from dreaded debts.
Step 9: Glare at local 'suits', all with more money
than me.
Step 10: Head back to office, eat gorgeous, pre-packaged,
hunger-busting lunch.
Lunch hour in Dubai:
Step 1: Exit office via lift, step outside onto four-lane
motorway.
narrowly missing speeding 4x4.
Step 2: Dodge speeding taxi whilst on sand-covered zebra
crossing.
Step 3: Break into instant sweat, flapping arms about
to create human fan whilst feeling any unfortunate underarm
fabric develop sudden wet-patch.
Step 4: Run from speeding mini-van, whilst developing
instant tan.
Step 5: Glare at local 'suits', some with more money
than me.
Step 6: Stand at crossing for 25 minutes, watching speeding
cars.
Step 7: Cross motorway, run to middle of roundabout.
Stand for 10 minutes waiting for speeding cars to stop.
Step 8: Weave through car park, glaring at 'suits',
some with more money than me.
Step 9: Locate food court and decide against another
polystyrene plate full of food colourings.
Step 10: Head back around corner to office, narrowly
missing desert safari 4x4 collision in driveway and
waiting 35 minutes for gap in traffic. Eat another samosa
from work canteen.
As you can see, my tuna-sandwich based ponderings didn't
really conclude all that much, apart from the fact that
whatever country you're in, you inevitably put some
element of your being in danger when you take that lunchtime
leave.
In London, we may have Boots Meal Deals and Pret a
Manger prawn cocktail on wholewheat loaf with crunchy
homebaked chips and an apple (drool), but we also put
ourselves in debt by a thousand more temptations.
In Dubai, the majority of us have food courts at the
end of our perilous, traffic-dodging journeys, but as
a result, at least most of us expats owe slightly less
to a heap of clothing store credit card schemes.
Posted: 10 April 2008
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