Chemtrails docu

What in the world are they spraying? Recently premiered at the Atlanta History Center (GA, US). Very interesting stuff! Try to watch the whole thing - this is going to win host of awards for sure!!















Guardian story about experimental spraying in the UK

Starbucks mania in Dubai

I came across his beeeaaauuutiful little news clip the other day and got all excited... and then realised it's already two years old. So here is my appeal to please, oh please, close some Starbucks outlets in Dubai too!

Here's the total list of cafes near my home:

Starbucks next to my flat on JBR.
Starbucks a bit down the road on JBR.
Starbucks a bit more down the road on JBR.
Starbucks round the other side of JBR.
Starbucks in Marina Mall.
Starbucks in Ibn Battuta.
Starbucks just across the way from the Starbucks in Ibn Battuta.

Eeek! Whatever happened to originality?? I should be sitting in a bedouin tent sipping Arabic coffee with a shisha in my mouth and a falcon on my shoulder not drinking poo-flavoured coffee in Starbucks every day!

So please, oh please, come out here and close a few down too! Would be very much appreciated, nice people of Starbucks inc.

Kind regards,

From Me.

Nanowrimo

Anyone who knows me will know that I'm always *on the verge* of completing that life-defining novel... Four half-baked novels on and I'm taking the bull by the horns and pooping that baby out once and for all!

30 days.
50,000 words.
Bring it on!!!

http://www.nanowrimo.org/

Halloweeeeeen! :)

Eeeeeeek!! :) It's my favourite time of year again. I have my witches hat at the ready - and a brand new cape! :) (Last year I was an impromptu 'Emily the Strange' lol).

Give me a cocktail, play me some Cure and I'm ready to paaaartaaaay!!! :)

Tips for freelancers

Get up early – 6am for a 7am work start is good.

Never treat yourself with a TV show over breakfast. It will probably be the best episode of any show you've ever seen in your life... and you will want to see the next, and the next... until you convince yourself to have a 'treat day' and watch the whole season. Baaaad idea! lol

Grey's Anatomy, Mad Men, Rubicon, The Event, The Hills, The City, Desperate Housewives, Brothers and Sisters = very lovely but baaaaaad.
Interesting work for money = gooood! :)

Eat raw food so that you have more energy and need less sleep.

Plan your day. Make a list of everything you need to get done – and how long it should take. Stick to it.

Get yourself down to a nearby cafe (if it has internet access). You'll be less distracted than you would be at home and you'll be amazed by how much you get done.

Don't faff over a story that you know you could get done pretty quickly. Don't spend a week gathering interviews and writing a feature that you know you could get done in a day. Don't leave that desk till it's finished!

Ok, so you might already have regular work, but don't forget to keep sending out those proposals. Always follow up with a phone call (or the other way around)... An email gets forgotten about. A phone call produces results.

Work as if you were at work. Freelancing shouldn't be a code word for one hour of writing and five hours of shopping.

Work like a full-time employer would expect you to work. How much did you used to get done at that office job? If the answer is picking out news stories, rewriting handfuls of wire reports, subbing stories, laying out 10-15 pages, proofing, re-proofing, chasing up PR peeps for an interview, go home, grab dinner, do interview, write up 1000 word feature and flop dead... all within the space of a day, then you know there's no excuse for taking it easy just because you work for yourself. Make sure work remains the biggest part of your day and relaxation comes as more of a treat a treat at the end.

If you were used to writing and rewriting several wire reports / press releases every hour at the newspaper job, there's no reason not to keep up the pace at home. The more you do in one sitting, the more free time you'll have.

Don't become a hermit. As a freelancer, you won't be getting that important day to day contact with random people, so make sure you plan regular time-out sessions with friends. Don't miss those dance classes, volleyball sessions and meet-ups. When your life stops revolving around the office, freelancing can become a great way to expand your world.

Getting yourself out there: Get yourself a website (I still need to do this!). Your various freelancer profiles will work too but story proposals will be helped if you can link your email to your own professional-looking website with story links etc...

Follow your own rules!!! You wrote them for reason! ;)

Freelancing is a wonderful route to freedom. You can pick the stories you choose, work where you want to work, travel at the drop of a hat, pick your own schedule. All you need to do it put the work in.

Happy writing! :)

Amsterdam and those old hidden mind maps

Isn't is funny how the mind maps places you've long forgotten about and brings them up like handy online versions of old paper maps you threw out long ago.

It's a bit like playing the piano - as a kid my teacher taught me an invaluable trick that still works to this day... 'Relax, close your eyes, and let your fingers find the keys'... True, you might not remember how to do something but your fingers (I guess that's your subconscious) sure as hell will.

Anyway, to get to my point, I had a one-day stopover in the beeeeautiful 'Omshdome' (or Amsterdam in my English accent) and was walking around like a little tour guide thinking 'woooow', I can't believe I know the way to get everywhere... 'You want to see Anne Franks house? Right this way my love'. 'A tour of the canals and the art gallery district? Ahh, well that would be right over here'...

We hopped off the plane nice and early at about 5am and spent a couple of hours exploring as we waited for the first few cafes to open up for breakfast.

Walking down the main road, Damrak, suddenly everything popped right back into my head like a scene from a movie... 'Oh yay, this is Dam Square where I once befriended some hippies and spent the day talking about philosophy and politics... I'd totally forgotten about that! :) ... Oh I've eaten in this restaurant before – and sat right here...'

I haven't been to Amsterdam for about 10 years now but have fond memories from my days as a poverty-stricken student living in the north of England and yearning for a backpacking experience. It was always a lot cheaper to hop on an Easyjet plane to Amsterdam than it was to catch the train down to London... and so every now and then, Amsterdam became the sum total of my backpacking on an 'extreme' budget experience, lol.

And what a wonderful experience it was! Amsterdam has to be one of Europe's most beautiful cities – the canals that wind their way through the city, the art galleries all over the place, cute little cafes, vintage boutique shops, the real young-traveller vibe of the place...

And then for me there's always been a little something extra about Amsterdam that I really loved. Every time I stepped out of the train station and looked around, I'd have a real feeling like I'd come home... The windmills, the clogs (in the tourist shops only, unfortunately! lol), the accent... Maybe it just reminded me a lot of my German oma's house in Friesland where I holidayed as a kid – a coastal region that spreads from Germany into Holland, with plenty of old fashioned windmills all over the place and shops selling wooden clogs... and that infamous Frisian dialect that sounds just like Dutch. (Incidentally, I also happen to be distantly related to the Dutch royal family - oh yah indeed! lol - if that makes a difference with this cultural identity ticker-tape parade! ;)

About a year ago on another stopover through Amsterdam I realised I could read and undertand Dutch. I had a real 'woah!!!' moment, as I thumbed through a various books in the airport book shop and started wondering if maybe I was Dutch in a past life.

Reading Dutch – for those who have never tried this – is a little bit like experiencing the mad ramblings of a highly dyslexic half German, half English person (in a nice way of course! ;) no offence intended! Lol). You know what they are trying to say but everything is spelt wrong.

I've spoken abut this to both South African and German friends who say they have the same thing – that they can also mysteriously read and understand Dutch – although speaking is another puzzle altogether.

I tested my Dutch / Frisian Plattdeutsch skills out with a shop-keeper the last time I passed through Amsterdam.

'Tag', I said for hello.
Then when he asked me something I added a 'yoo' for yes (haven't a clue what he asked me though! Lol)
And then a 'Dank' when we finished.

I was almost jumping up and down with excitement when he carried on chatting away to me in Dutch completely oblivious to the fact that I'd just taken a wild guess at disjointed German and Plattdeutsch words... Anyway, next time, maybe I'll try adding some more phrases and see how that goes – hopefully I won't sound too crazy! lol

Beautiful Flower :)

Sending smiles around the world with India Arie :)



This is a song for every girl who's
Ever been through something she thought she couldn't make it through
I sing these words because
I was that girl too
Wanting something better than this
But who do I turn to

Now we're moving from the darkness into the light
This is the defining moment of our lives

'Cause you're beautiful like a flower
More valuable than a diamond
You are powerful like a fire
You can heal the world with your mind

There is nothing in the world that you cannot do
When you believe in you, who are beautiful
Yeah, you, who are brilliant
Yeah, you, who are powerful
Yeah, you, who are resilient



Inside my head there lives a dream that I want to see in the sun
Behind my eyes there lives a me that I've been hiding for much too long
'Cause I've been, too afraid to let it show
'Cause I'm scared of the judgment that may follow
Always putting off my living for tomorrow
It's time to step out on faith, I've gotta show my face
It's been elusive for so long, but freedom is mine today
I've gotta step out on faith, It's time to show my face
Procrastination had me down but look what I have found, I found

Strength, courage, and wisdom
And it's been inside of me all along

I close my eyes and I think of all the things that I want to see
'Cause I know, now that I've opened up my heart I know that
Anything I want can be, so let it be, so let it be.


... Oh and a little Jill Scott... Youtube's Leija Turunen says that Jill Scott raises your vibrational frequency and gives you a shiny and bright aura... here's hoping! :)

My yum vegan, gluten-free pancakes! :)

If you're trying to wean yourself off that pesky bread... then let me show you a brill – and yummy – pancake that will satisfy all those cravings for stodge. This is super easy and quick to make.

Recipe:
Millet/Rice/Fava bean flour (your choice – just anything gluten-free).
Rice milk (quinoa milk or nut milk will do fine too – but rice milk will satisfy that sweet tooth).
Flax seeds (to replace eggs as the binding agent... and make your skin baby smooth! :)
Coconut oil for cooking (not only does coconut oil make the pancakes taste sweeter but it's also the only oil that doesn't become a carcinogenic trans fat when heated).

Steps:
Put the flour into a bowl - as much as you like! :)
Add two tablespoons of ground flax seeds.
Add rice milk until the mixture becomes liquidy.
Add a spoon of coconut oil to the pan.
Pour in the mixture and cook on both sides until golden brown! :)

Et voila!! :) An extremely yum bread-replacement.

Sweet topping:
Blend together your choice of fruit... banana, mangoes or berries will be truly delicious. Add a squirt of lemon juice and it's yummy to the tummy! :) (I used a banana, goji berries and pumpkin seeds in the picture above).

Savoury topping:
Slice an avocado, add grated carrots, chopped herbs and sprinkle with sprouts and a dash of salt... or just add your usual bread topping like Marmite... Mmmmm :)

Tips:
Millet flour will be sweeter but if you want something more savoury, use fava bean flour.

This is a great recipe to use if you're transitioning to a raw food diet... Once you wean yourself off the bread and transition to food like this, your body will soon give you the signal to cut out the pancakes altogether and stick to the yum fruit and veggy toppings! :)

Happy eating! :)

Fabulous Fashion Avenue

A couple of days ago I discovered something magnificent! Fashion Avenue in Dubai Mall!! A separate enclave cut off from the rest of the mall and home to every high-end designer under the sun... Salvatore Ferragamo, Stella McCartney, Oscar De La Renta, Marc Jacobs, Roberto Cavalli...

And the best part – you can wander in, try on some clothes, admire the fabric... feel the textures and absorb the general feeling of fabulousness that these places exude.

Well as much as I love art, fashion, clothes, pouring over the latest designer collections online, I've never been able to afford such luxury, so looking around these shops and just being in the presence of such mastery is the next best thing.

I'm usually way too overwhelmed by my 'I'm not worthy' mentality to enter the really super-duper high-end designer boutiques like these. I remember backpacking around Italy when I was 19 and gazing with *longing* into the designer stores along Rome's Via dei Condotti, but being way to scared of the militant security guards at the door to actually go in.

Well times are a changing... in Dubai at least, and I was free to browse, enjoying a chit chat with the store workers about the great designs and try on a few select pieces in Stella McCartney:


(I love this but sadly not a good look for real women! ;)

Marc Jacobs:




I looked around Oscar de la Renta and literally thought I'd died and gone to heaven. How is it even legal to design such beautiful clothes, lol!? I picked a beautiful, voluptuous gown off the rack and held it against myself in the mirror... an instant transformation back to every little girl's fantasy of becoming a real-life princess fairy! Lol And then looking at the price tag (as if I could afford it anyway!!) was instantly pulled straight back to earth with a bang! Dh45,000!!!! That's about 7,000 quid!!! Holy crap! [cue a sharp intake of breath and me veeery carefully putting the dress back where I found it! lol]







Anyway, a girl can dream and dream I do! :) And for anyone in Dubai, I'd recommend a trip to Fashion Avenue for sure!!! :)

On a lighter (high street) note, I'm really loving French Connection right now! These days I've taken to snapping pictures of myself whenever I try on something that I really, really love. That way I don't just buy everything in sight... and can sit on it for a week to see if I still feel the same way in a few days time – my nifty money-saving plan! :)

However, French Connection [sigh] ... I just love everything, and pictures really aren't helping me make a decision... For the past week, I've been slowly talking myself into buying every one of these fabulous dresses! Eeeek! :) Decisions, decisions...

Travellers' songs

I discovered the amazing Avett Brothers for the first time a couple of days ago. They've been around for a while and I think they're pretty big in the US. Anyway, they are soooo good, I can't believe I'd never heard of them before. For the last three days I've been listening to 'I and Love and You' on repeat... Has to be one of the most beautiful songs I've ever heard! And amazing lyrics – whoever wrote this is a poetical genius:

Dumbed down and numbed by time and age
Your dreams to catch the world, the cage
The highway sets the travellers stage
All exits look the same



Load the car and write the note
Grab your bag and grab your coat
Tell the ones that need to know
We are headed north

One foot in and one foot back
But it don't pay, to live like that
So I cut the ties and I jumped the tracks
For never to return

Ah Brooklyn Brooklyn take me in
Are you aware the shape I'm in
My hands they shake my head it spins
Ah Brooklyn Brooklyn take me in

When at first I learned to speak
I used all my words to fight
With him and her and you and me
Oh but its just a waste of time
Yeah its such a waste of time

That woman she's got eyes that shine
Like a pair of stolen polished dimes
She asked to dance I said it's fine
I'll see you in the morning time

Ah Brooklyn Brooklyn take me in
Are you aware the shape I'm in
My hands they shake my head it spins
Ah Brooklyn Brooklyn take me in

Three words that became hard to say
I and love and you
What you were then, I am today
Look at the things I do

Ah Brooklyn Brooklyn take me in
Are you aware the shape I'm in
My hands they shake my head it spins
Ah Brooklyn Brooklyn take me in

Dumbed down and numbed by time and age
Your dreams to catch the world, the cage
The highway sets the travellers stage
All exits look the same

Three words that became hard to say
I and love and you
I and love and you
I and love and you



Last night I dreamt the whole night long
I woke with a head full of songs
I spent the whole day
I wrote 'em down, but its a shame
Tonight I'll burn the lyrics,
'Cause every chorus was your name

Break this tired old routine
And this time don't make me leave

I am a breathing time machine,
I'll take you all for a ride



Tear down the house
That I grew up in
I'll never be the same again
Take everything that I’ve collected
And throw it in a pile

Bulldoze the woods
That I ran through
Carry the pictures of me and you
I have no memory of who I once was
And I don't remember your name

Park the old car
That I love the best
(The) inspections due and it won’t pass the test
It’s funny how I have to put it to rest
And how one day…I will join it

I remember crying over you
And I don't mean like a couple of tears
And then I'm blue
I’m talkin’ about collapsing
And screaming at the moon
But I'm a better man
For having gone through it
Yes, I'm a better man
For having gone through…

Ever since I learned how to curse
I’ve been using those sorry old words
But, I’m talkin’ to these children
And I’m keeping it clean
I don’t need those words
To say what I mean
No, I don’t need those words
To say what I mean

Tear down the house
That I grew up in
I'll never be the same again
Take everything that I used to own
And burn it in a pile

And, bulldoze the woods
That I ran through
Carry the pictures of me and you
I have no memory of who I once was
And I don't remember your name

Dubai's corporate minefield

I probably sound like I moan about Dubai a whole lot so I think I should set the record straight. Dubai is an awesome place for the right kind of people. For many it's the new land of opportunity where dreams really do come true... where you can jump a few steps up the career ladder, party the nights away, laze on the beach... and all that jazz.

For others that doesn't necessarily ring true. I'm not even going to get into all the stuff that gets reported around the world – that's a whole other books worth and one that talking about right now would surely get me thrown into jail! lol. For now at least I'll just say a few words about corporate Dubai.

I'm not sure what it is about Dubai, but it does have a knack of changing people that come here. Or maybe it's more a case that Dubai attracts a certain kind of person - people who wouldn't usually be so successful back home and are riding high on the glory of their success. And boy does it often get to their heads! Suddenly you have all these 22-year-old expats marching around like divine dictators or high school twats ... and the rest of us onlookers are wondering *jeeez!* what the hell got into him/her... The simple answer, is, well... Dubai.

Ok, so a bit about corporate Dubai. From my experience at least, companies here aren't so into the human resources side of things. There's no career development, no training or investment in staff, and hard work is seldom rewarded. When you come to Dubai, you're a commodity, plain and simple – no beating about the bush.

So first things first, they take your passport away from you... just in case you ever think about doing a runner... And getting it back (albeit temporarily) is a long and complex process involving the gathering of authorisation signatures from about a zillion managers.

My first two years in Dubai were spent working in a windowless basement with dim flickering lights. I've always had 'broken' eyes, but it wasn't long before my eyes (and the eyes of numerous other people) slid a few grades down the vision chart. And what does the company do to improve the situation? Get some better lighting? Move us to an office with windows?? Nope, nada! Similarly, good office equipment was sorely lacking (not worth the investment apparently). For about a year I worked on a computer that (*and I kid you not*) crashed *every* five to 10 minutes... And this being the country's biggest selling national newspaper! (I'll not mention the name! ;)

Working day and night is expected of you. In my situation, as other staff members left or went back home and deadlines were brought forward, I was forced to double and triple my work load - never taking brakes with hardly a second to run to the loo... Twenty minute lunch breaks grabbed whenever there was a moment to spare were raised in performance reviews as an issue of concern. After my 10 hour day was up, I was expected to go home and start my days work as an interviewer and feature writer (ok, so I did it willingly)... right up until the small hours... then a couple of hours sleep and in again for 8am.

For an extra dollop of icing on the cake, from my experience at least, the place really nurtured the kind of working environment where people would think nothing about taking credit for your work and blaming you for their cock-ups – never the best ingredients for a happy working day.

Not last and not least (but the last thing I can think of right now), there's the whopper of an issue of people from a 'certain' part of the world (not the locals) who can't get past the fact that there's a woman in the office. Women are either viewed as 'sexy play things' or 'verbal punching bags' with no middle ground. As a woman, you are usually treated with real disdain and a 'please get out of here and go have some babies or something' type mentality. The Dubai melting pot theory is great, but let me tell you, daily instances of this become truly exhausting! And from my experience, women who get promoted (usually the youngest ones with the shortest skirts), are often so surprised by their success, they spend a dazzling amount of energy making sure the rest of the women stay in their place, never to become a professional threat...

So what about that old cultural melting pot theory? Lunch breaks at my work place were always an amusing sight with different nationalities sitting at various separate tables. Go and sit with people who aren't your own nationality and the conversation literally stops dead with the *confusion* you've caused! Lol...

I've thought long and hard about why Dubai is such a breeding ground for these sorts of working environments... and why there exists here this strange sort of cultural melting pot where people of different nationalities live and work side by side but often never really mix or share a cultural identity like they would in other parts of the world (even among people who have lived here for 20 years or more).

Answers that spring to mind are the gaping issues like salary differences between people who do the same job but have the misfortune of coming from different countries. That leads to restrictions in the way that people socialise – so while some people are champagne brunching in style every weekend (not me! Lol) their colleagues from other parts of the world can barely afford to catch the bus home. There are other issues too - like the fact that expats never get citizenship. Anyone at any given time can get the order to pack up and leave the country within 30 days – whether they've been here for 5 years or 50 years. In that respect, I can see why certain people can't be bothered to change their lifelong perceptions... about women in the work place... or anything at all... After all, why change your fundamental beliefs when everything could change in an instant?

So anyway, these are just a few of my experiences of life in corporate Dubai. I'm sure some companies are great but I know from friends in other work places who had very similar stories to share, that this is veeerry much a Dubai phenomenon.

Would be nice to be proved wrong!

... And that's my rant over! :) Onto a nicer topic for next time ... ;)

Dreaming of London

I've had a weird thing happen to me in the last couple of weeks that's been creeping up on me little by little... And all of a sudden, I'm thinking, 'I want to go *home* soooo bad!' Well not home exactly (I'm not too sure where home is these days) but to London town!

It's a little feeling of nostalgia that's been growing on me very slowly – and all of a sudden I have a great huge hole in my heart that won't be cured until I'm sipping tea with the taste of the Thames under slate grey Victorian skies (to quote the master of expat Englishness! Lol)

Here's a few things I miss about London:

Enjoying the evenings with friends, smiling, laughing, dancing (without feeling like an alien).

Treasure hunting at Camden Market – and coming away with beautiful nic nacs, a bracelet maybe or a skirt (little pleasures that don't cost the earth like they do in Dubai).

Wrapped up warmly, sipping mulled wine and eating corn on the cob as dusk settles over Camden town.

Dancing the night away to Morrissey in a cozy indie club. Then watching the sun rise over the Thames and going for a full English breakfast as soon as the first place opens at 6am.

Stumbling on beautiful, record shops, book shops and gigs that you weren't expecting.

Music – everywhere.

Arts films (don't get those in Dubai).

Theatre (don't get that in Dubai either – for the most part).

Walking along Oxford Street as dusk falls and feeling the excitement of night building up.

Energy and life.

Variety... I Googled raw vegan restaurants the other day and about a gazillion popped up in London. Someone is always onto it... whatever *it* may be.

Feeling inspired to write, to live, to love...

Anyway, that's just a run down. My other half loooooves Dubai so I know I'd have a tough job convincing him to move anywhere (about as tough a job as I'd have convincing him to go raw vegan! Lol) Dubai is great but for me it also represents limbo land – and I can't help feeling like I'm waiting for life to begin...

I really think I can live the life of my dreams in Berlin and I think I can live the life of my dreams in London... Or maybe in a South American raw food community, living off the grid, growing our own food and creating beautiful things... Any one of those would do me just fine! Lol

Anyway, that's what I'm thinking about today... :)

Till next time... over and out! :)

Foodie blog: My route to raw

For anyone who wants a boost of energy, I highly recommend becoming a raw food vegan. I've been leaning this way for about a year now (with a couple of relapses along the way) and can't speak highly enough about it.

When I was 10, I made the decision to become a vegetarian. I grew up with chickens as pets and remember that horrifying moment of truth when I realised that the food called chicken is the same thing as the adorable Cluckerberry and Sally who scamper up to you and attempt a jovial squarking conversation every time you go outside.

My moment of conversion came when I saw a clip of a chicken slaughter house on television at my grandmother's house in Germany. I don't think I'll ever forget the horror I felt as I saw the helpless chickens hanging upside down on a conveyor belt moving towards a machine that would chop off their heads. For me it was a real-life horror movie and even at 10, I felt completely devastated and appauled.

So for 10 or 11 years I was a super strict veggy... probably up to about 20 years old when I travelled to Amsterdam with some friends... and of course like any young tourists, we hunted down a coffee shop to smoke a doobie (wild! Lol)... But for me, the really wild thing was eating a chicken drum stick from a road-side vendor. At the time, I just thought, 'what the heck' and tentatively picked bits off it, being a little grossed out by the feeling of tissues and tendons... But at the same time feeling completely malnourished like this chicken drum stick was *everything* I ever needed from life.

And so (unfortunately) I gradually got back into eating meat... right up until the age of 30. I was never a big meat eater and always felt guilty every time I munched on the leg of a dead animal that died especially for me. I'd hazard a guess that this overwhelming guilt isn't a healthy way to eat. And I also always questioned what made my life so much more important than this animal that suffered intense pain and death for me. But in my 20s I just kind of thought, 'well what the hell, I've done my part for the animals... why should I be the only human who thinks about these things... and what about me for once...'

So I really put the ethical thing to the back of my mind and carried on munching away thinking I was doing a world of good for my nutrition. Well, the other part of the equation is that I was one of these home-alone kids probably from the age of about 13 or so, and mostly lived off frozen ready meals that my parents packed the freezer full of every time they came to visit. And as a kid, I really believed that frozen veggies would do me a world of nutritional good.

Anway, skipping ahead to the age of 20, it's hardly surprising I felt so totally malnourished as I picked at my chicken drum stick in Amsterdam. I'd grown up on frozen microwave meals and my body was crying out for nourishment.



Soooo, skipping ahead another 10 years, to 30... I like to think I know a little more about nutrition now than I did as a kid – in fact it's a hobby of mine – if that doesn't sound too dorky! Lol And these days I've learned that there's barely a jot of nutrition in meat. In fact it can cause havoc with your digestive system – leading to all sorts of illnesses and diseases like cancer. Quinoa for example is a far superior sauce of protein than any meat.

Which brings me up to this raw food, vegan, gluten-free thingy that I've been experimenting with of late. So these are a few of the effects that a raw food diet can have on you:

• Cures acne (I've had really mild adult acne for years that I've always had to cover with a thick layer of makeup.... no more!!!! :)
• Prevents cancer – Raw, enzyme-rich foods create an alkaline environment in the body. Meats, starches and dairy cause an acidic environment. Cancer only grows in an acidic environment when the cells are clogged with goo that they don't know what to do with – thus causing cancer and other illnesses.
• There have been *many* instances where terminal diseases have been cured by changing the body's pH levels and switching to a raw food diet.
• Raw foods give you a healthy beautiful glow and make your skin (and you) exude health.
• Raw foods give you energy – and a lot of it!!
• Raw foods make you high – on life! :) Well also rather high – at least when you first make the switch and your body is experiencing so much pure energy for the first time... You will literally be bouncing off the walls or hitting the gym for a couple of hours a time! All good stuff! :)
• For me, raw food also makes me want to reach out to people, to smile a whole lot more, engage with people and start conversations in situations where I normally wouldn't... in the lift, at the gym etc...
• Generally fills you with nature's life force... eliminates tiredness etc...

A couple more points:

• Chimps are 98% genetically similar to people and eat a mostly raw food diet – with a few termites thrown in for good measure. Wild chimps have none of the health complications that people do. Captured chimps, however, that are fed on more of a man-made diet, do start to get ill with cancers etc...
• And lastly... if everyone in the world switched to a raw food vegan diet, just think what a beautiful place the world would be!!! There would be fruit trees growing everywhere, people would grow their own veggies, and the world would be abundant and green once again... What a beautiful way to heal the world! Lol

So anyway, these are just a few of the things I wanted to share about my food journey... Not an expat issue, I know, but hopefully interesting nontheless... I will keep you posted on my progress! :)

The Dubai stone

If you've ever heard of a thing called the 'Dubai stone', you will know that it's not something you really want to have. What is the Dubai stone? The short answer: FAT!

The saying goes that anyone who moves to Dubai is guaranteed to pile on the pounds – usually ending up a good stone or two heavier than normal.

Lack of exercise is the biggest culprit. Dubai isn't a place where you can go for a walk through the countryside or cycle to work and back. A summertime walk will fry you like a pork chop and a cycle ride down one of the busy seven-lane highways... well it's just not something you'd be advised to try.



I never really thought I was that fat when I lived in Dubai until I first moved to Berlin for a trial month to see if I liked the place as much as I thought I did. I rented a cheap apartment in Tempelhof and spent my days exploring the many cycle paths through the city and cycling the 40 minute journey into the city centre and back, as well as walking around outside, visiting the outdoor markets and enjoying Berlin's colourful neighbourhoods like Prenzlauer Berg and Kreuzberg.

To cut a long story short, a month later, I returned to Dubai to pack up my stuff and leave for good, looked in the mirror, and was pretty much amazed at my shrinkage.

While I know I was probably doing a whole lot more exercise than I would have if I lived in the place, I also recognised the huge benefits of simple pleasures like walking down a street or cycling into town that just isn't an option in Dubai (no pavements to walk down).



Where food is concerned, you're not going to get a generous supply of beautiful fresh veggies in the desert. Organic is hard to come by (unless you make an extra trip to the city's one organic shop) and everything in the supermarket is either shipped in from some far flung place, (which always makes me feel a bit sorry for the world), hugely GM'ed or loaded with pesticides (which makes me feel sorry for my tummy).

I've always been big on herbs, buying big bunches or parsley and coriander every week. Well I always thought that the herbs I buy in Dubai had a real texture like plastic, so I assumed it was probably GM. My suspicions were confirmed when I discovered a whole different plant growing from my parsley stem. But then again, how else are you going to grow veggies in the desert?

Moving to Berlin was such a crazy u-turn for healthy foods than Dubai. Almost every street has a beautiful organic shop where you can pick from a countless variety of delicious fruits and veggies. You can also shop from one of the charming farmers markets. I once bought a 'flower salad' – very yummy and looked very pretty on my plate too! :)



Well now that I'm back in Dubai (albeit temporarily) I am super determined to keep the pounds off. It's the height of summer right now, so walking isn't an option (I tried this a couple of weeks ago and discovered that my entire body was covered in blisters when I got home!)

One of the good things about Dubai is that most apartment blocks have a gym and a pool... soooo, I'm making sure I get my 20 minutes cycling session in every morning. I see myself a bit like a wind-up watch and I've really noticed how much extra energy I have when I start my day like this! Every few days I've also been going for a really lovely swim... nothing strenuous – just a bit of a splish splash while enjoying that all-important sunshine! :) And for a touch of Middle Eastern fun? Belly dancing!!! Amaaazing workout and sooo much fun!



As for the food, well I'm making sure I put in the effort to get myself down the the organic shop at least once a fortnight to stock up on beautiful, colourful veggies that I know will flood my body with health and vitality. You might be stuck in the desert, but there's always a way to make things better... and so far so good... I haven't seen that Dubai stone creep up on me just yet! :)

Heart of Darkness - expat stylie

It's a common tale in Dubai - Western men with live-in girlfriends and secret wives and children back home... the old adage that whatever happens beyond the borders of your native country can't come back to haunt you.

I’ve been reading Obama’s Dreams From My Father and was quite interested in the bit where he mentions Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness.

“The book teaches me things,” he says.

“[It’s] not really about Africa. Or black people. It’s about the man who wrote it. The European. The American. A particular way of looking at the world… It’s all there, in what’s said and what’s left unsaid.”

I’ve always thought that last page in Heart of Darkness is one of the most poignant endings of any book ever written. Years later I also realise that it’s also quite a fitting passage for describing some aspects of the general expat experience.

So the narrator Marlow is describing Kurtz’s death in Africa to his wife back home in England (I probably have a few details wrong here)… And of course Kurtz, by the time of his death was a seasoned ‘expat’ with a long-term lover and not a passing thought about trivialities like a wife back home. In this case, the fact that Kurtz was less a modern-day expat and more a raging colonialist is just a slight change in circumstance that makes the novel more of its time…

However, his story echoes things you hear all the time in Dubai – Western guys with girlfriends/fiancés and often unbeknown to friends out here, a secret wife and child back home. I guess it’s also an indication of the world view of the respective guys – how big or small the world seems to their eyes. So people with maybe less of a world view will feel like they are light years away from home and that no one could ever find out about what they get up to out here.

So Kurtz’s wife, who is completely oblivious to the fact that she was barely a footnote in her hubby’s life, begs the narrator to tell her his last words (“the horror, the horror”).

And the narrator looks at her rather pityingly and tells her that his last words were her name.

`` `Repeat them,' she murmured in a heart-broken tone. `I want -- I want -- something -- something -- to -- to live with.'

``I was on the point of crying at her, `Don't you hear them?' The dusk was repeating them in a persistent whisper all around us, in a whisper that seemed to swell menacingly like the first whisper of a rising wind. `The horror! The horror!'

`` `His last word -- to live with,' she insisted. `Don't you understand I loved him -- I loved him -- I loved him!'

``I pulled myself together and spoke slowly. ``'The last word he pronounced was -- your name.'

``I heard a light sigh and then my heart stood still, stopped dead short by an exulting and terrible cry, by the cry of inconceivable triumph and of unspeakable pain.

`I knew it -- I was sure!'

She knew. She was sure.

I heard her weeping; she had hidden her face in her hands. It seemed to me that the house would collapse before I could escape, that the heavens would fall upon my head. But nothing happened. The heavens do not fall for such a trifle. Would they have fallen, I wonder, if I had rendered Kurtz that justice which was his due? Hadn't he said he wanted only justice? But I couldn't. I could not tell her. It would have been too dark -- too dark altogether... ''

Marlow ceased, and sat apart, indistinct and silent, in the pose of a meditating Buddha. Nobody moved for a time. ``We have lost the first of the ebb,'' said the Director suddenly.

I raised my head. The offing was barred by a black bank of clouds, and the tranquil waterway leading to the uttermost ends of the earth flowed sombre under an overcast sky -- seemed to lead into the heart of an immense darkness.

A Woman In Berlin

"One of them grabs my wrists and jerks me along the corridor. Then the other is pulling as well, his hand on my throat so I can no longer scream. I no longer want to scream, for fear of being strangled. They're both tearing away at me, instantly I'm on the floor..."

Another great blog entry from Joseph Pearson's Berlin Memory Blog – this time about Eine Frau In Berlin (A Woman in Berlin) – the diaries that I named my blog after! :)

There are a million interesting quotes in this book that I'd like to post. Unfortunately I had to give my books away when I left Berlin so don't have any to hand (nomads travel light! lol)

I couldn't see any good quotes online but I'll try to dig some more snippets out from somewhere soon! :)

Note to budding journalists

I recently wrote an arts feature and sent it to over 30 newspapers.

It was a good story, or so I thought, about the 'selling out' of Berlin's sub culture and the closure of the squat-turned art house Tacheles. I had a very interesting interview from the art house, an interview with the bank who were getting the place closed down and an interview with the mayor's office who wanted the art house to stay.

Several people I know read the story and said they found it really interesting. Okay, I know that friends have to say that, but as a journalist with more than 10 years experience, I really thought it was a good story.

As the number of emails in my sent box steadily grew, I was left scratching my head as to what could have possibly gone wrong. Granted, this was my first contact with a lot of these papers, but come on folks, from the 30 newspapers from England, Ireland, Australia, US, Canada... surely someone must like it! No?

After spending copious amounts of hard cash ringing the respective newspapers on my mobile to ask if they liked my story proposal, a few told me they only use their one correspondent for that particular city. This struck me as a shame to lose out on stories because of a loyalty to just one journalist. Wouldn't this put a dent in the whole freedom of press ideal?

In the end I was forced to shrug my shoulders and admit that this is simply the nature of journalism in the year 2010. With local papers around the UK closing at an alarming rate and nationals cutting back on staff, I know that there are many more journalists like me doing the rounds with more than interesting stories, just looking for someone, anyone, to take them.

I have more than 10 years experience as a journalist but much of that time has consisted of me working for free – for the sheer privilege of getting my name into print. My many work experience stints early on in my career, consisted of me moonlighting as a bar maid by night and going to work the following morning for a full days slog for me, and some nice free labour for the newspaper.

To find myself turning once again to the student journalism circuit to keep my CV ticking over, is a sad day indeed. And yet every year thousands of fresh faced hopeful journalists enter the job market, eager for a slice of the exciting career of their dreams.

If I could dish out any words of wisdom, I'd have to say 'fly far, young journalists' and a very general, 'don't do it!' True, I love what I do, but journalism can be a cut throat, soul destroying profession full of rejections and let downs.

On top of that you need to be rich... very rich to see your career take off. Speaking for myself, those first few years spent working for free left me massively in debt – a debt which at the age of 30, I've only just managed to repay.

Being one of the many journalists who was recently made redundant, I now find myself back in the 'I'll do anything for free' type of mindset. This time around I'm fortunate to have the support of an understanding boyfriend who wants to see me succeed but without this cushion I'd have been back behind the bar long ago.

Journalism is steadily becoming a profession only the wealthy can afford to indulge in. It takes a whole lot of money to give your time for free. And if you don't know of anyone living in the places you need to be like London, you will need to fork out for rent on top of living expenses. For me at least, the only way to pay for these things was often with many a credit card.

It seems sad to witness the nation's press being slowly taken over by society's most privileged. What will the ramifications of this be for freedom of the press that democracy so tentatively hinges on?

Journalism certainly isn't a career where the saying applies that if you really, really want something, then if you work really, really hard and have a deep passion for what you do, you will succeed. This just isn't the case in the field of journalism. In this profession, if you really, really want something, you need to be really, really rich, own a home in London, have friends in high places, an uber-resilient spirit and the ability to shrug your shoulder when after 10 years of floundering, you're right back to square one.

I'm turning into a Ruski

It's official. I'm turning into a Ruski and there's not a thing I can do about it.

Where clothes are concerned, if it sparkles and glitters, I have to have it! Sparkly, glittery and dangly earrings, golden belts, lacy mini-dresses, snakeskin stilettos... There's a strong chance that in six months I'll be walking around in diamond-encrusted jeans and too tight halter neck tops (the quintessential uniform of Russian women in Dubai).

I guess you can't help what you love and a few days ago I bought these amazing snakeskin stiletto sandals. It was a battle of wills and my boyfriend actually left the shoe shop in a strop about them.

“They're hideous,” he told me, in no uncertain terms. “If you buy these shoes, we're getting a divorce.”

And yet as I pranced about in front of the mirror in these wonderfully glamorous shoes, I knew I had to have them.

My decision was helped by another customer, a Russian lady, who pointed at my feet and said, “those are NICE!”

“I know,” I sighed, and the decision was made.

When I first came to Dubai for my interview at the local newspaper as a fresh-faced 26-year-old, I was surprised when in just one day, several people asked if I was Russian.

The first was during a trip to the beach. I had just two days before flying back home, so my theory was that I should try and experience everything that Dubai has to offer – just in case I didn't get the job and wouldn't be coming back. So I headed off for the beach (I seemed to be the only woman there) and proceeded to go for a lovely swim all by myself.

Well as I dried myself off and walked off down the beach, a young kid of maybe 16 came running after me.

“Are you Russian?” he asked me.

“Russian? No. Sorry.”

This didn't seem to deter him and he kept up his pace beside me, asking me a few more times if I really might be Russian after all.

I got to the road, my hair still wet, and hailed a taxi to take me to one of the old market souqs for a few hours of shopping.

Well it was a bit of a weird taxi ride and thankfully I've never experienced anything like that since.

So the taxi driver starts asking me if I was Russian and by this stage I'm quite amused and thinking there must be someone in Russia who looks just like me.

He then tells me that he doesn't want to take me to the souq but wants to show me a quiet beach that he thinks I might like. Errrrr, how about NO!? Lol

He refuses to believe that I'm not Russian and also refuses to believe that I'm in Dubai for a job interview with a newspaper.

“Tell me where I'm from,” he asks me.

I reel off a few places – all of them wrong, and he tells me that unless I can guess where he is from, I am clearly a fake and couldn't be a “proper” journalist. The fact that up to that stage in my career I'd cut my teeth as an arts journalist didn't seem to matter.

Eventually he tells me he's from Afghanistan and shows me a picture of his wife – a beautiful, heavily made up but rather miserable looking woman who looked like she was about to burst into tears. He tells me he recently gave a lift to a German couple who were in Dubai on holiday and had a child but weren't married – God forbid! He asks me what I think about this, so of course I raise my eyebrows and say I think it is terrible... By this stage I'd figured there was a line of thought that was best not crossed.

By now I'm starting to get a sinister feeling from the guy who is still driving around the back roads and insisting on taking me to random places, so I raise my voice in a rather unladylike manner and say 'take me to the flipping souq or experience my wrath', or something along those lines.

As I hand him my taxi fare, he examines it closely and looks at me quizzically.

“Is this even real, or is it fake like you?” he asks me.

I raise my eyebrows and quickly jump out of the car – and boy was I relieved to be out of there!

Well it didn't put me off Dubai and I've never again had a taxi journey like that. Only when I got the job and moved to Dubai a couple of months later did my colleagues enlighten me that many Russian women in Dubai are prostitutes.

Ahhhhh, so that explained a few things.

I guess my going for a swim alone, and walking around with wet hair had raised a few eyebrows (even though I was wearing long sleeved baggy clothes). But Ruski, I wasn't... at least then.

Well I'm definitely not a hooker now either, but I am borrowing a few things from the glitz and glam of the Ruski persona.

What can I say, I'm a magpie at heart. Anything glittery and sparkly will be mine by hook or by crook!

From Paradise Lost to Paradise Found

“Hello and welcome to hell.”

This was the greeting my other half and I received as we arrived at the beautiful Seychelles in the heart of the Indian Ocean. It wasn't exactly said in those words but it wasn't far off.

“Oh, it's your birthday today,” said the guy who welcomed us to the hotel as he filled out our passport details. His eyes lit up at the thought.

“You are the same age as my little brother,” he told me.

“Oh... nice,” I replied with a smile.

“He died two months ago.”

“Oh.”

How are you supposed to answer a comment like that!? Well of course we were suitably apologetic which encouraged the concierge to sit down with us and tell us about his family tragedy and the disappointments of life on the Seychelles – all within 30 minutes of arriving.

His brother, it turned out, had left behind three children and encountered many problems in life. As for the concierge, he was desperate to leave the Seychelles and return to England where he had lived for many happy years previously. In fact, it turned out that he and I lived just down the road from each other in Manchester.

I'm not sure what it is about me that makes people want to tell me their life tragedies within minutes of meeting. Maybe I just look like an understanding kind of person. I guess I am. Even in primary school, I was always the designated counsellor – the person that people would come to, to talk about their problems. In my family life, I was always a negotiator, levelling out arguments and trying to make everyone get along. Even in work situations, I've always been the peace maker – the one who stands at the sideline of arguments trying to appease anyone and everyone – usually at my own expense.

Well anyway, it wasn't long before our concierge told us in no uncertain terms that we had quite literally arrived in hell.

“People in England used to ask me why on earth I would move from a place like the Seychelles to England,” he said. “They say this is paradise. But I love England – even with the rain. There is so much to do there.”

He frowns for a moment before continuing.

“Here, there's nothing to do,” he says. “Yes, people say it's a paradise, but paradise can very quickly turn into hell.”

“Hmm,” we both agree sympathetically.

“All you can do here is swim in the sea,” he says. “But what do I want to swim in the sea for? I haven't been to the beach in 16 years!”

By this stage I was half sympathetic and half amused at the words of doom being dished out by a designated holiday rep. At the same time I recognised his sentiment from my years in Dubai – a life that often sounds very picture perfect to outsiders, but as many expats quickly discover, paradise rarely measures up to the pictures in the guide books. Sooner or later you crave a whole lot more to life than the luxury of a dip in the sea or a pool in your back yard. In a place like Dubai, luxury soon becomes the nostalgia of grotty dive bars, rainy days, a hint of sunshine through smoke coloured clouds and the familiar faces of long lost friends.

Changing the conversation he asked us what we planned to do on our holiday.

“Well we'd quite like to do some snorkelling,” we said.

“Oh no, the sea is far too rough right now. Unless you want to drown.”

“Hmmm... Well we would love to do some nature walks. Do you have any info about trails?”

“It's been raining for the past couple of days. It's far too slippery to go walking right now. Besides, you need a guide and he's off at the moment.”

By this stage my other half and I were looking at each other with worried expressions. Two of the reasons came here were already seemingly crossed off the list.

“Well we were thinking of hiring a car and exploring the island,” we said. “Can we hire a car at the hotel?”

“Oh no! Have you seen the roads here!? The way people drive here is very dangerous. It's far too dangerous to drive in the Seychelles.”

By this stage, the word alarm about our holiday prospects – or lack of – was putting it mildly. We were grateful to be told our room was ready.

Anyway, we did all of those things and had a brilliant holiday. We didn't drown, fall down a mountain, or die in a car crash, so all in all I'd say we were on a roll! And for a holiday at least, I'd definitely recommend the Seychelles. To our inexperienced eyes it really was paradise on earth! :)

Little Britain's moving on up in the world

“What is better, England or Dubai?” asks a bright young Indian man who has come to repair a broken window in my Dubai apartment. “I want to live in England but I was asked to leave the country and can't get back in again because my visa expired.”

I ponder the dilemma and tell him that a good way back into the country might be with a student visa.

He nods enthusiastically.

“England is a very rich country,” he says. “Veeery rich.”

I laugh and shake my head.

“There's a lot of poverty in England,” I tell him. “A lot of homeless people living in cardboard boxes. It's not a rich country for everyone.”

He discounts my words and repeats that England is a very rich place.

I am reminded that for many people, Europe represents a promised land, a protected bubble with healthcare and benefits for the poor – a wonderland that everyone wants to be a part of.

Immigration was a hot topic of conversation during the UK's last general election with millions of Britons basing their vote on the conviction of the respective party leaders' political stances on the matter.

“I don't go clubbing any more because the clubs are filled with little foreign men,” a former colleague of mine once told me.

I laughed before realising that she was deadly serious.

The England I grew up in is a very different place to the one I return to today. But while many Brits lament the loss of old-world England, I can't help but be anything than grateful for the benefits that immigration has brought to the place.

The small town I grew up in - once a very lacklustre, and very 'white English' place - is now filled with interesting people from around the world. Previously barren streets are lined with cafes and restaurants and the place seems more alive than I ever remember it being as a child.

I got a tiny taste of anti foreign sentiment as a half English, half German girl growing up in small town England.

At primary school, kids would run up to me and ask if it was really true that I was half German. If I answered yes, they would visibly recoil in horror. I can only presume that their mothers had heard my mum's accent at the school gate and given their kids a good talking to about the Germans after school that evening.

A religious friend of mine once told my rather surprised mother, “I really love the Germans because Jesus said to love your enemies.”

“Oh... that's nice sweety,” my mum replied.

By middle school I'd learned my lesson and flat out denied it if anyone asked me about my secret half nationality.

My mother's 'otherness' and the rather provincial nature of the small town I grew up in meant that anyone of 'difference' often became good friends. Close family friends growing up included French, Spanish, Egyptian, Nigerian, Saudi and of course German people.

Today my parents provide rooms for young language students from the local language school. Usually these students stay a while – often for a couple of years or more. The last few such students have come from Saudi Arabia – young men and women full of life who are eager to learn the language and customs of England.

One such youngster, who has lived with my parents for a couple of years and now counts himself as a family friend, rang my mother from a pilgrimage to Mecca.

“I am giving thanks to important people in my life and I want to thank you for everything you have done for me,” he told her over the phone.

It was a gesture beyond the realms of anything my mother has ever experienced from a European student and she recently came to the conclusion that she prefers students from the Middle East because she finds them so much more respectful and willing to integrate.

On a recent inspection of the house by the language school to check that everything was up to spec, the woman from the school let her in on a secret.

“You know, most people in this town say that they don't want to house people from the Middle East,” she told my shocked mother.

Facebook is a great way to have a nosey at the lives of people you went to school with. I look at the profiles of some of the kids who were so staunchly British at school – many of whom are now mothers with children who never left the town we grew up in.

By fate of accident I met the husband of one such girl – a taxi driver who drove me back from the airport on a return trip from Dubai. I told him that I had lived in Dubai and was about to move to Berlin, and then we got talking about where we were from and it turned out he was married to this rather anti-German school friend of mine.

On our journey back from the airport he lamented the fact that he'd never lived overseas.

“I've always wanted to do something like that,” he told me.

“Well it's never too late,” I said.

“Nah,” he replied rather sadly. “You can't do something like that when you have a family.”

I look at the differences between our home town then and now and wonder if their kids will have more of a chance to appreciate different cultures than they did.

Certainly living in a place with people from all over the world right on your doorstep has to go some way towards expanding the mindsets of tomorrow's kids. Surely that can only be good.

End of an era

Here's a question. Is it really dorky to cry when watching The Hills? I watched the last episode (ever) a couple of days ago and couldn't help getting really choked up. Me and one of my old housemates in Dubai used to be crazy about the show and whenever I was having a Lost in Translation moment, I used to really look forward to watching The Hills as a small dose of normality (and that's really saying something! lol).

So I watched the after show party the next day and they showed this clip of Heidi from the first season - back when she still had her own face. She was prancing around like a ballerina and saying that she hoped to become a fun, LA, PR party girl. And then it cut to a clip where she said she felt like her life was about to change in a big way but she didn't know how yet. Little did she know her life was about to spiral out of control - that she'd lose all of her friends, stop talking to her family, be hated by the press and eventually feel so uncomfortable in her own skin that she felt the need to become a different person and completely remould her face... Well as they were playing this clip of her looking so young and hopeful, they showed her estranged sister balling her eyes out as she watched the clip and wow, I got so choked up again! lol

I've also just finished writing a feature about the closure of Berlin's squat-turned art house Tacheles which also marks a real end of an era so I think that's why it was super sad watching the end of The Hills! lol. Yes I'm a dork! ;)

I'll post a link to my Tacheles story when it goes online! :)



I love this version of Unwritten: