Global grocery shopping

I remember when I lived on St. Thomas in the Caribbean and a gallon of milk would cost eight US dollars. It would then expire two days after you bought it from one of their many clean and sanitary grocery markets.

Ahhhh, island life. Sometimes I miss it a lot. Other times, not so much.

But now I live in Abu Dhabi -- which technically, is also an island -- but our grocery options are a little more vast. At the same time, there is a huge dependency on the other countries around us.

Simply put: there are only so many kinds of food you can grow in the sand.

I do most of my grocery damage at a special little place called Lulu, the most popular grocery outlet around these parts. Each mall -- there are many of them in this fair city -- have a Lulu Supermarket. And you know whenever you put the word "super" in front of anything, it becomes that much more awesome.

I really like their advertising campaign, too:

On one side, you have a happy Emirati family enjoying an afternoon at the grocery store. Looks like mom fancies some top-shelf goodies. Go ahead, girl! When you look at the other side, it tells me: Oh, and we also allow white people to shop here, so throw on your favorite pair of blue jeans and get on down here.

I joke because I love.

Seriously, Lulu is actually a very good market -- any consumer's one-stop shop.

A simple stroll through their fresh vegetable isle is like taking a flight around the world. Of the groceries I bought yesterday: the salmon was from Norway, the lettuce was from Holland, the red onions were from India, the avocados (Miranda's favorite) were from Kenya and the red apples were from New Zealand.

We also got to enjoy farm fresh, locally-grown UAE mushrooms, eggs, tomatoes and beans. And after last night's dinner, we indulged in some chocolate from Kazakhstan for desert (thanks, Kristen).

This is what 543 dirhams worth of groceries from Lulu looks like. The black bags contains about 687 dirhams worth of whiskey and wine I bought at a nearby liquor store...

Yes, you are a math whiz. On this particular shopping spree, the alcohol did cost more than the food. Don't judge. Did I mention I'm on a diet? Which means no more international chocolate for me. It's OK. Next time I need to get my Kazakhstan fix, I will just holler at my good friend, Borat.

Ramadan, in retrospect

For the record, I have nothing but respect for this country, this region and the different customs that Muslims live their lives by. But have you ever walked into food court at a packed mall on a Saturday afternoon and seen this?

Based on the sun reflection coming in through the windows, you can tell it's high noon -- the lunching hour.

But on this day at Mushrif Mall in Abu Dhabi, nothing could be heard but the subtle sound of crickets chirping. That and the distinguished murmur of my stomach growling.

Ramadan is the ninth month of the Islamic calendar and the annual observance is regarded as one of the Five Pillars of Islam. It also means that Muslims worldwide observe this as a month of fasting.

No food or drink can be consumed in public during the day for an entire month. If you are caught -- even if you are not Muslim -- you could be fined by the police.

Enter Expat horror story here ---> Last year, a colleague was fined because he was spotted pouring water in a bowl for his panting dog who was suffocating inside his car. Fined Dh500, which is like $130. True story.

Sure, it's the peak of the summer and 115 degrees outside but don't even think about taking a sip from that water bottle. Almost every single restaurant is also closed during the day and for a Westerner, that is hard to get used to.

Not to worry, though, the Starbucks in our building had our back. They hung large black sheets around their store in observance of Ramadan. It was kind of creepy slipping in and out of there like it was some sort of gothic circus tent but we needed our coffee fix...

In my office, they set up a conference room in the back and it was known as 'the Ramadan room' where expats could go to eat lunch, have tea or complain about Ramadan.

When I first got here, I noticed people were in line to take July off for vacation and I quickly learned why. Bars closed very early, there was no live music and things moved very slow -- even slower than normal -- just because most people were running on fumes and counting down the seconds until that 7.15pm call to prayer sounded, signaling the end of the day.

I made sure to stay off the roads during that time each day because there's nothing worse then a starving Arab driver with a heavy foot on the gas. They were all hustling to Iftar -- a plentiful meal that starts promptly after sunset -- to feed their empty bellies.

This is what the luxurious Iftar tent at the Fairmount Hotel and Resort in Abu Dhabi looks like. While it was very quiet during the day, Miranda would entertain clients here at night and the festivities usually went very late into the night...

Sure, if you are a rich oil tycoon or just want to spoil yourself, the Fairmount was the place to be. Mere peasants like myself, however, demand less and expect a genuine experience. So when Miranda's colleague, Taha, from Egypt, invited us to his home for Iftar, we gladly accepted the generous offer.

Both Taha and his girlfriend, Joanna, who was from Peru, fasted for Ramadan. I know it looks like he's about to pass out in this photo, but after a long day of fasting, Taha just wanted to be close to his woman, his friends and some good eats.

"You get used to it after a day or two," he told me right before we attacked the amazing stewed chicken and rice he cooked up, which he said was from a special Egyptian family recipe.

Enjoying Ifar with them was one of the best nights I've had in Abu Dhabi. Even though Taha was taken aback when I told him I don't play video games, it was a great time. Apparently, after Iftar, it is customary to play games and digest until Suhur, which can consist of more snacks or just another protein-rich meal, which is eaten just before daybreak to prepare for the next day's fast.

Ramadan ended about four days ago and it does feel good to get back to normal. So I guess my days of sneaking bites of fresh samosas during the car ride home from the supermarket are officially over.

It retrospect, it really wasn't so bad. Until next year, Ramadan Kareem, everyone!

Welcome to Bahrain

I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and asked myself, "What would Edward Snowden do in this situation?"

Miranda looked at me with a tiny hint of concern and reluctantly asked, "I thought you were good at this kind of stuff?"

She had reason to roll her eyes politely. Because by the time she had asked me that, we had been sitting in the Bahrain Airport immigration office for over an hour. Our flight from Abu Dhabi was only 45 minutes.

Meanwhile, my friend Cate, who we were visiting, was waiting right outside the arrivals gate. She was wondering where we were and probably sprung to attention every time a white person emerged from the terminal, which was far and few between.

Indeed. I am usually good at this stuff. You know, travel stuff. Avoiding setbacks. Cruising through Customs, smiling my way through metal detections and humoring small-chat attempts from complete strangers at the airport bar.

But this was Bahrain, dammit! There are no airport bars here.

Immigration guy: "Mr. A-Ron... where are you? You can come in now."

In these situations, I have learned that it is always good to kill your captors with kindness.

White terror threat: "Well hello, sir. Such a fine day it is. How are you doing today?"

IG: "I see here you did not fill out where you are staying. What is the address?"

WTT: "Oh, you guys actually look at that?"

IG: "Yes. Yes, we do."

He was not seeing any humor in the snappy dialogue we had set up.

WTT: "Well, you see sir, I don't know exactly where my friend lives but she is right outside waiting for us. I could go ask her..."

IG: "NO! That is not how we do this. You are staying with your friend? What is his phone number? I will call him."

Yes, I realized that the immigration officer referred to my friend as a man but I did not correct him. He was a big burly Arab man and the idea of some long-haired weirdo living in the UAE with an American passport, traveling with a female and visiting another female -- well, I just thought the whole concept would make his head explode.

WTT: "Ok, let me just check her -- I mean his -- number in my phone.  Hold on, one second."

He then abruptly shifted his attention to the other shady people trying to enter his country who were also sitting outside, biting their fingernails. It's right about then when I slightly started to panic. Like an idiot, I must have punched her number incorrectly into my phone because every time I called, it went right to an instant dummy message in Arabic. You know the message you get when your deadbeat friend didn't pay his cell phone bill on time? Well, it was either that or I had entered the phone number incorrectly into my contacts. I was pretty convinced it was the latter and now I didn't have a leg to stand on...

WTT: "Alright, well, does this look like a local number?"

I then showed him my cell phone screen with my contacts list and I think he noticed my hand has started to shake. Fear was getting the best of me.

IG: "No, you are missing a number."

His eyes started to squint at me, which suggested that I was one wrong move away from getting deported.

Eventually, I was able to dig through some old emails from Cate and located her correct phone number, where she lived, her job and her favorite pizza toppings because in Bahrain, no tiny detail goes by the wayside. Everything checked out until they started to peruse the rest of my passport and work visa information.

IG: "Ok, everything looks good. But it says here you are a journalist?"

WTT: "Indeed. I am."

IG: "What kind are you? Eh, you know..." Then he started to mimic someone pushing buttons on a typewriter.

WTT: "Ohh, yes. Nothing to worry about there. I'm a sports journalist. You know, football. All that good stuff..."

IG: "Well, now I have to make some calls to the appropriate people. I hope you don't mind. It will just be a few more minutes." And then he directed me to sit back down in the outside waiting room.

I walked back outside and Miranda's slight concern was met with a half grin on my face. She wanted to know where we stood, what was so funny and if Bahrain was sending us back to Abu Dhabi, could we make it back in time to enjoy a night out?

I told her that we were all good with the logistics but this latest delay is because of the profession I chose in the world. It's something they never tell you in Journalism school.

Work hard. Ask questions. Seek the truth. And if you find yourself in certain countries, get ready to be treated like a criminal. There was nothing about that last part in our graduation ceremony.

So after a little more waiting, we finally made it through and had a great time with an old friend. It was a real treat hanging out with someone from my hometown while living in the Middle East. Naturally, it reminded me of living back in the States.

Then this global terror threat warning went out and my email was flooded with concerned friends back home. You know who you are and I appreciate your messages. But we are now back in the UAE and everything is lovely here.

All I do know is that transit area in the Bahrain airport is fairly clean but, understandably, not the most comfortable place in the world. Did Edward Snowden really stay in something similar to this for a few weeks while is Russia? I guess it is very hard when you don't have a "home" to go back to.