Nazar Azar
Graphics Designer
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On the way to

Fujairah – the Friday market.

I was a bit disappointed because the authenticity was not there, the products were not fresh fruits and vegetables from local farms, the shop sellers all from

India, the plastic beach toys and the Pashmina shawls – everything seemed out of place. But then .. what else could I really expect? At least the roasted corn on the cob was good!

 

Yes .. a building in the shape of a tea pot! So much for all the fancy sky scraping designer architecture in

Dubai. This is the Marine Club – if I remember correctly – in

Fujairah.

More from our trip to Khor Fakan and Fujairah. I loved the way these rocks were nestled inside the bigger rock. A profusion of greys and a little blues, inspiration is everywhere if only take the time to look.

http://fadwas-inspirational.blogspot.com/2008/12/inspiration-all-around-us.html 

Victory

(at the F1 powerboat racing event - Sat. 13 Dec. 08)

I watched him from a short distance away; observing the dance of the ego.  There he stood; maybe he was Palestinian, maybe Lebanese, or maybe Syrian (I can usually say exactly which, but for the purpose of today’s secret habit story, I will not). There he stood in his black suit, black tie, white shirt and gelled back hair. He was facing the reflective glass at the DIMC grandstand, the engines of the boats roaring behind him, the sea glistening in the sun like his hair. He was waiting for a royal individual to arrive, and he must look just right.  

He came up really close to the glass, for a better view. He touched his hair, but only barely so as not to spoil the carefully coifed style. He saw the eagerness of his eyes reflected in the glass. He smiled at himself, then changed his mind and withdrew the smile. He buttoned his jacket; then unbuttoned it again. He walked backwards, and walked towards the glass again. He practised several walks: cool but serious (smile and an open jacket); alert and serious (serious look with a buttoned jacket); familiar but serious (one hand in pocket)…Oh, no, that would not do. He quickly removed his hand from his pocket. 

He peeked round the corner to check the arrival of royalty.  

He moved in closer to the glass. He moved back again. He redid his tie. He brushed his left shoulder with a flick of his right hand – hoping there was no dandruff. It’s always a risky decision to wear a black suit. He straightened his trousers, re-buckled his belt, licked his fingers and slicked his bushy eyebrows.  

A sudden flurry. A group of people emerged from round the corner. More black suits and greased back hair, white dishdashas and white ghutras. They walked into the tent. They flowed out of the tent.  

He waited outside; outside the tent where they did not pass and they did not see.

He looked perfect, in his black suit, black tie and white shirt.

His hair glistening in the sun.

No one saw his eyes glistening in disappointment but me.

This was taken on the beach at Dibba again, over the Eid Al Adha holiday.

My friend Aida suggested we go down to sand level and take a picture – thus was born the ant’s view of life: simple, straight forward.

http://fadwas-inspirational.blogspot.com/2008/12/ants-point-of-view.html

Today we drove from Dubai to Fujerah. We went through Sharjah, Al Daith, Masafi, Dibba, Khorfakan and finally reached Fujerah. It was nice to see mountains after so much flat terrain. At one point we went into Al Hala to search for a “lake”; we were told by a friendly and smiling local that it was just up ahead. He eve took us part of the way - smiling all the time. When we got there, we parked the car and walked a while. The rocks on the ground were stunning! Greens, pinks, purples, silvers, golds, browns, grays, and pure white marbles and glittering stones. I started to pick up some rocks here and there, and soon we all got excited about the amazing colours, everyone ended up collecting rocks. My husband went ahead to look for the lake which turned out to be a cement pool, green mossy water and swimming frogs! The rocks made up for the disappointment and the rocky drive in our non-4-wheel

toyota. 

http://fadwas-inspirational.blogspot.com/2008/12/inspiration-no.html

This photo I took from the Hilton Fujerah coffee shop looks strangely similar to the one I took in Moraira last summer (have a look).

One of the things that scares me most about getting old is that people around me will only see the old in me. They will not see that I still feel pleasure and passion, that I have a trunk load of kisses and stories, that inside I still feel 18 or 37 (my favourite age).  

This is a silly little poem I wrote when I was 13 or so (don’t laugh):  http://fadwas-inspirational.blogspot.com/2008/12/i-love-pink.html 

The Girl Who Once Loved Pink 

When my time on this world done

Will people still have fun?

Will they stop and think,

There was a girl who once loved pink? 

Will they throw away the letters I sent,

And forget the words I really meant?

Will their hearts in sadness sink,

For the girl who once loved pink? 

Will the guy I loved find another chick?

How long will it take him to pick?

Will he toast and drink,

For the girl who once loved pink? 

Will they every remember,

Or do I just have to surrender?

Will they every stop and think:

There was a girl who once loved pink?

What I am reading right now:

Banipal – Autumn/Winter 2007 (yes, I keep and read old issues!)

Word into Art – Artists of the Modern Middle East (by Venetia Porter)

I want to get married – أنا عايزة أتجوزج

Drawing for the terrified (by Richard Box)