Color Run in Abu Dhabi

WARNING: Before you play this video, turn down the volume on your device. It's loud.



About five minutes after this life-changing moment was captured on digital film by my wife, we both looked at each other and sort of raised the top of our palms up in the air like, "Now what?"

I guess we had a good time...

Sure there were lots of color, some loud music at the end and we got to run around the Formula One track on Yas Island. That was fun and all but I guess the whole experience was really summed up later that evening when Miranda and I chatted over a beer about what had taken place.

Miranda: Did you have fun?
Aaron: Yeah, it was pretty fun.
M: Would you do it again?
A: Ehhh, probably not. After doing it once, I can't imagine why I would want to do it again. Kind of a one-and-done event, you know? Cross it off the list. We got it under our belt.

Look, it was smiles all around and I'm not trying to be negitive here but...

What is the point of these Color Runs?

Sure, a lot of people that do not normally exercise probably got out there and moved their ass a little bit. Hey, that's great.

But the organisers kept yelling that this was the happiest 5K in the world!

I don't want to sound like a Debbie Downer, but besides people throwing some color chalk on you, how is it that different from any other typical 5K run? Why do our emotions need to be thrown into the situation??

It's not like it was a charity event. Oh wait a second, I did read that a whopping $1 out of every $38 registration fee went toward some Smile Foundation that I've never heard of. So I guess we were out there for a cause. Kind of.

What did all that money go toward? The race T-shirts? The colorful chalk? Or did it go to pay the depressed crew of day laborers that had to brave the mid-day sun and sweep up a huge, colorful mess that more 6,000 people left behind? Sigh...

It's obvious where they got the idea:



I think this whole Color Run fad will die down pretty soon. The company running them should try to do as many as possible because the concept will get old pretty fast.

Plus, it's been like three days and there is still color on my legs and arms. When does this stuff actually come off? I shower quite regularly. Really, I swear.

Who has the best burger in UAE?

During a recent visit to the always-faithful Fuddrockers in Al Wahda Mall, my wife and I reluctantly watched as hungry patrons could not wait for their food so they decided to treat the burger toppings bar like their personal salad bar.

When they couldn't find proper dressing, they just used that pasteurized nacho cheese to add flavor to their otherwise healthy supplement.

Pure hilarity.

I only bring it up because some friends back home believe that beef is not allowed in the UAE, which is a concept that is so far-fetched, I just got hungry thinking about it.

In fact, the good people of Abu Dhabi love their burgers so much, my newspaper, The National, put together a skilled group of aficionados to decifer an answer to the age-old question that has been plagueing these parts for centuries:

Who has the UAE's best burger?

Besides a picture of the Crown Prince of Abu Dhabi meeting with US President Barack Obama and under an article about the increase of Emirati female college graduates, the "buger expert analysis" piece made the front page of today's paper. Stop the press!

While I was relieved Fuddrockers made the final list -- Yaay, coporate America -- I was just a little weary of the judges. Don't get me wrong, my colleagues at The National are some of the finest journalists in all the land. But after a quick glance at the names, I noticed that there were only three male judges compared to eight female judges.

Pardon my French but what do women know about burger consumtion??

I am not trying to be sexist here. Really, I'm not.

I guess I'm just feeling left out. I wanted to be a judge... Where was my invitation? I could have offered my vast knowledge on the subject and who doesn't like a free lunch?

Journalists love a free lunch. We thrive on it.

But we will never take it to the extreme. Like fixing yourself a little starter salad while waiting for a burger at Fuddrockers. Yea, like you've never done that before...

Yes, you CAN drink alcohol in the UAE

DISCLAIMER: We here at the Soggy Dirhams blog do not condone, participate or encourage excessive consumption of alcohol. We are not booze hounds. We are not sloppy. We do abide by all the strict alcohol regulations and rules in the United Arab Emirates and hold the utmost respect for those who enforce them. The purpose of this post is to prove to people living outside the Emirates that some of the far-fetched rumors they have heard about living here are indeed false. And on that note, Salud!

When my father caught wind of my plans to move to the UAE, he thought I was a little crazy. He said, "Son, there are two things they do not have over there: Women and booze. And I know you like both of those things..."

I love my dad and I always listen carefully to his words. But he was incorrect in that assesment for two reasons. Number 1) I am now happily married and I only have eyes for my beautiful wife. Isn't she gorgeous?

And Number 2) There is access to any type of alcohol you can think of in this country and even a few that are illegal in the West. But before I get ahead of myself, I can not stress this point enough: If you are caught drinking and driving here, even if a tiny drop of alcohol is in your system, YOU WILL GO TO JAIL FOR A VERY LONG TIME. If you come to visit or are thinking of re-locating here, it's just like going to any other country: please be conscience of their laws and regulations.

There are different bars and pubs in all of the hotels -- there are many across the UAE -- while you are also allowed to drink at your home, certain public sporting events and concerts and of course, at boozy brunch. Don't forget about the liquor stores, which usually close around 9pm daily.

Let's start with the pubs. There are many in Abu Dhabi and most stay open until 2 or 3am on the weekends. Just like where YOU live, right? As they are popular spots among Expats, the prices for drinks may get up in the stratosphere and the bartenders are usually clueless.

But sometimes, you will find that one gem and keep going back for more.

I have one qualm about bars here. Back in the States, like many people, I would generally go to certain pubs based on who is tending bar or if my friend was slinging the suds. Let's be honest, the best bartenders are usually the most experienced and knowledagle drinkers we know.

In the UAE, I guess bartending is not a very lucrative gig for Westerners so the industry usually attracts booze slingers from a junior-varsity team of mixologists. I have not received a drinkable martini since I moved here and good luck if you want a round of shots chilled.

The worst part is that the concept of visiting a friend's bar and going there just to see them is completely lost here. You know the song: Where everyboy knows your name...
Well, not in the UAE. Sigh.

Ahh, the boozy brunch. It is exactly what you think. And for a small price, every Friday, you can dine with the best of them as the all-you-can-drink champagne flows like water. Miranda and I have hit brunch at several hotels in Dubai and Abu Dhabi and every time we go, it never disappoints.

One law in the UAE that may seem different is that because this is a Muslim country and Muslims do not drink alcohol, non-Muslim residents need to have a liquor license in order to purchase it at a store or drink at home.

The access at my local liquor store is pretty solid as cases of beer are stacked to the cieling while different wines, hard liquor and even drinks that apparently make you hallucinate are available for purchase.

Walking out of the liqour store after a recent splurge, I decided to throw out my best Nicholas Cage impression from Leaving Las Vegas.

You know, Sin City and Abu Dhabi... Very similiar places.

As you can see, when you buy alcohol here, they put the bottles in a thick, black plastic bag as to not reveal to Muslims what you are carrying. As if the recognizable booze body bag doesn't give it away.

On more than one occasion, I have flagged down a cab but when they saw what I was carrying, they refused to give me a ride. The drivers, both times, were Muslims and didn't even want the alcohol in the trunk of their cab.

Drinking with friends and family at home is my favorite because we have a pretty cool balcony and there are no bars in this town that will show NFL games. And if there were two -- make that three things -- I would not compromise after moving to the UAE, it would be my woman, my booze and my football. Cheers.

Pure kindness in Istanbul

The first thing I did after we walked into our hotel room was reach into my trusty back pocket to discover an absent passport, which instantly struck fear into my heart.

I consider myself to be a savvy international traveler. I'm usually very organized and I'm always conscience of the whereabouts of my passport. But here I was, about two hours into our Istanbul trip and I was not in possession of that little blue bastard.

Of course the initial reaction was to turn every little piece of luggage upside down and search. After it looked like a touring rockstar just had a freakout in our hotel room, still no passport.

Then it was time to trace back my footsteps: Got off plane. Went through immigration. Duty-free store for whiskey. Taxi ride. Hotel.

OK, seemed simple enough. Needed passport to get through immigration so that narrowed it down. For some reason, when you purchase stuff at Duty-free, they always ask for your boarding ticket and passport. Why is that? Does the place moonlight as a passport lost and found headquarters?

I guess while morons salivate at their liquor purchase, it's easy to lose track of things.

Before I got ahead of myself, I didn't want to discount the taxi ride. It was about a 40-minute ride from the Istanbul Ataturk Airport to the Swissotel The Bosphorus and the passport could have slipped out of my pocket. Maybe.

Insteasd of grabbing some evening drinks with my wife and enjoying our first dinner in the city, we were both back in a cab to continue our investigation at the airport. Trust me, it was a shitty way to start off a trip.

What if I did not retrieve it? Would I have to stay in Istanbul? Would I have to make the 4 1/2-hour drive to Ankara, Turkey's capitol, to visit the U.S. embassy? And what if the riots start up again? Ugh, too many horrible scenarios.

But during these frantic moments, we encountered pure kindness that will not soon be forgotten.

Our cab driver Igor, even though he spoke very little English, understood our predicament and even reconized the taxi receipt I showed him from our earlier ride. Turns out, it was a friend of his. Crazy city. There are thousands of taxi drivers but just by chance, we were in his buddy's cab.

While he negoiated the crazy downtown traffic in Istanbul, he was on the phone trying to locate the guy. They spoke Turkish on the phone and his happy response suggested that the first cabbie did, indeed, have the passport. When he hung up, he said, "No problem, we'll meet him."

In reality, he was just happy because it was confirmed that yes, his buddy did give a young, good-looking couple a ride from the airport to the hotel earlier in the day. So for the next two hours, we sat with Igor at the taxi cab hangout spot near the airport and sipped Turkish tea while under the impression his buddy had my passport.

He did not and we learned that the hard way when he finally rotated back toward the airport with a confused look on his face. We searched every inch of the back seat of the taxi and still no passport.

By this time, I think Igor had felt like a member of the team. He would not quit until this mission was completed. So after we came up with zilch on his friend's cab, the three of us marched toward the airport terminal more determined than ever.

Once again, Igor took the lead and started to speak Turkish with people at Lost and Found, infomation desks and even security gaurds. Meanwhile, Miranda disappeared on her own little search.

I think Igor was getting frustrated with his Turkish counterparts and the lack of infomation and help we had received. It was right about then when I was about to quit. A look of discouragment dominated Igor's face.

Just then, I glanced over at the recent arrivials and saw Miranda scurrying through the crowd holding something in the air. My amazing wife had somehow finagled her way back into the arrivials terminal -- despite the armed Turkish security guards not speaking English -- and retrieved my passport at the very same Duty-free counter I had visited before.

Initally, the lady at the desk said no one had turned in a missing passport but Miranda recognised it sitting just past the counter and they gave it to her without any questions asked. What a country!

My over-the-top celebration followed by the ecstatic embrace I gave my wife was only appropriate because we were at the arrivials area inside an airport terminal. I literally started to kiss her feet before she reluctantly squashed the loving gesture due to her blushing in public.

We had found the passport and it was a complete team effort. Well, in retrospect, I did not do much but complain, and worry and curse myself, but it didn't matter because Igor and Miranda saved the day.

After our triumph, we walked back to Igor's cab and he drove us all the way back to our hotel. During the trip, we found out his shift had ended more than an hour ago so the trip was just another example of his kindness. When we got back to the hotel, I asked him what he was thought as far as money because he never turned on the meter the entire time.

"No problem," he said.

Once again, Igor gave me another reason to smile as he reaffirmed my trust in humanity. Do to others how you would like to be treated. I emptied my wallet inside his cab that night but I made sure to keep a very firm grip on my passport.

After a tramatic first evening in Istanbul, the rest of the trip was pure bliss...