Greetings from Abu Dhabi

The beautiful Sheikh Zayed mosque in Abu Dhabi, picture from here

Greetings, dear readers, from the wonderful city of Abu Dhabi, where your glamorous internationally jetsetting blogger is currently ensconced in a lavish hotel suite (suite!) for a few days.

I'm here on a bit of a whirlwind trip, having flown in for a job interview - at their expense, thank goodness, not mine - and of course a bit of fabric shopping if I can fit it in. And if you know me at all, you know I'll fit that in.

It all happened rather quickly, so Saturday night saw me farewelling My One True Love at the aeroflot yet again. There is something very deja vu / error in the code about our farewells at the airport these days, as we've done so many of them. But farewell we did, and with a grin and a wave I was through the metal doors and into the newly redone area of the international departure space.

And it's lovely! They have a Cafe Vue there now, and my favourite store, which sells merino clothes and Metallicus, had a wonderful golden yellow scarf which I exercised considerable restraint to not buy. After all, I haven't got the job yet - and if I do get it, I'll hardly be needing a woollen scarf now, will I?

Before too long I was on the plane. In economy. In my seat. Which was broken. Noooooooo! True story, it didn't recline. I contemplated the prospect of a 14 hour overnight international journey sitting up ramrod straight as the hours went by, feeling my spine crumble into oatmeal. Oatmeal spiced with razors.

After a few quiet words with one of the stewardesses - during which I fluttered my proverbial eyelashes and mentioned the phrase "job interview" at least eleventy-six times, I was shown to a new seat. In the middle row of the plane. Where no one else was sitting. Four empty seats to myself ......... whoo hoo!!! In all of my flying hither and yon over the years, I have never, ever had an entire middle row to myself. It is a thing of myth and legend.

And so Project Nighty Night began. I put up all the armrests, arranged a number of fleecy airline blankets over me, created a little mound of pillows at just the perfect height, accepted a vodka and tonic, chased it down with a valium, and said goodbye to the world for the entire night. Slept like a baby.

And now here I am. I have five hours of interviews today (five....hours....) and I think that with the help of a little caffeine through the day, I should make it through relatively unscathed.

Wish me luck!

Postage Stamp Quilt

 Do you ever get that urge to sew, like I do? A feeling in the middle of you like something is crushing your insides and you just gottta create something?

Today, I am filled with inspiration. My sewing machine has been in its box for a full four weeks now (four! weeks!) and I can feel the urge getting louder and louder.

I've had a project in the back of my mind for a little while now, and it strikes me that this is the perfect time to begin it. It lives in this book, The Gentle Art Of Quilt-Making, by Jane Brocket. I love this book, because I have so many of the fabrics she uses in the quilts, it's as if she's inside my mind.

I adore the colours and textures of the projects she puts together, and the book itself is stunning. I used to pick it up and stroke it lovingly in the shops before I actually caved in and bought it. Tell me, have you ever seen a more lovely cover? (Ignore the glue stain, oops)

The pattern is called "Postage Stamp", and it puts all the squares on the diagonal, which brings a lot more movement into the quilt.

I've picked out sixteen fabrics from my stash, all in bluey-yellowy shades, and the weather has been so kind that I've been able to wash and dry them all.

I have a range of Joel Dewberry prints, Filigree Gallery, Michael Miller, Anna Maria Horner, Heather Bailey, and a couple of pieces I bought when I was in India a few years ago.

I'm really excited about beginning this project, it'll be my first quilt in a while. Can't talk, must start cutting 3 inch squares!

Blog blog ..... yawn....

Yaaaaaaaawn!

That is not the yawn of a bored blogger. Oh no. That is the yawn of a sleepy blogger.

I've been back in Australia for around 10 days now. Hello Melbourne! Hello My One True Love! Hello pussins! Hello green green gardens and velvet lawns - sooo unusual for Melbourne in summer, but then, I understand most of Australia has been under water for months now, so that explains it.

Yes, I've been back for around 10 days, and unconscious with exhaustion and jetlag for the better part of that time. Bahrain is 8 hours behind Melbourne, so it's almost exactly a reverse timeframe. When I'm sleepy, I should be awake. When I'm awake, I should be asleep. I get hungry for cereal at dinner time.

Every day I try to get up at a reasonable hour.... and then I go back to sleep. It's hard, especially when the pussins are all warm and cuddly and curled up on the yellow silk coverlet. That is the best kind of superglue to keep me in bed.

But I am resolved; I WILL adjust to this timeframe. Today, or tomorrow ....before I fly back to Abu Dhabi for a few days. And then everything will be topsy turvy again. Sigh!

More pictures of Africa

Pictures of Africa

Astounding Addis Ababa

After my first full day in Africa, my senses are whimpering for respite.

I’m not sure whether it’s the thick pollution; the crowds of unwashed humanity (such a change after the sterility of Bahrain); the overwhelming number of crippled, mangled, diseased and leprous people begging on the streets; or the sheer noise and, colour and volume of the population, but I’m ready to fall deeply into unconsciousness and shut it all out for a while.

I’m a little drink, I mean, drunk, on honey wine too, which doesn’t help. Known as tej, honey wine tastes like spoiled, fermented orange juice – with an aftertaste of ant. Mmmm. Ant.

I gratefully downed the full 500 mL I was poured at dinner at Yod Abyssinian, a loud and noisy restaurant where you can eat your fill of injera, the local food, while watching traditional Ethiopian tribal dancing – which is quite something to behold. The place was packed full of local people, except for the faranji – foreigners – in suits, who I presume work for one of the many NGOs who are headquartered here in Addis Ababa. I saw my first UN vehicle today, and check out this US aid sack being used as a rubbish bin.

But back to dinner: this is the kind of woven table made out of local grass that injera is served on, and here is a photo of the injera I had for dinner.

It took a while to get the technique of eating with my fingers (right hand only, NEVER use your left hand as that is reserved for less ahem, wholesome activities), but I managed to drop something on myself only once. I am absolutely stuffed …. I think what I really need is to lie down on the bed and moan a little. The honey wine had to find its way into the tiny gaps left in my stomach after I plugged the entire organ with goat meat, cabbage, and red bean chiro. Sooooo yummy – but now I hurt a bit. I haven’t been this full in ages.

There is much more to report, but I am about to head into deepest darkest Africa, where I’m told there may be internet ... and there may not be. I don't even know if these photos are going to upload properly, so I'll count myself lucky if I can connect at all.

So this may be my last post for a while, but rest assured – I am taking notes; and I will re-establish the lines of communication as soon as technology allows.

Here I am in Ethiopia

It’s 1145pm, and the guesthouse I’m staying at here in Addis Ababa, described by my trusty Lonely Planet as being “clean, comfortable, and on a quiet side street”, has clearly metastasised a tumourous carbuncle of a nightclub since it passed that original inspection with a clean bill of health. Gah.

The volume of the African music that’s playing right outside on the street – an oh-so-subtle combination of heavy thundering bass, steel drums, and fast rhythms on saxophone and vocals – might as well be inside the room it’s so loud. I thank god for the earplugs I stuck into my bag. And that I’m only staying two nights.

Flying into Ethiopia was quite something – I was unaware that I’d booked on the inaugural Gulf Air flight to the country, so the trip was accompanied by press photographers, tv cameras, dignitaries and the cutting of golden ribbons with golden scissors. It all made us quite late for our departure, so the pilot did his best to make up time along the way, and on descent to our destination as we hurtled out of the sky towards the ground like a screaming metal missile, torn clouds streamed past my window in shreds as the whole plane shook and rattled and groaned with the effort. I briefly entertained visions of the headlines that would result from us exploding in a ferocious fireball as we re-entered the Earth’s atmosphere on our maiden flight – oh the spectacle. It would have been quite Titanic-esque in its irony.

When we touched down safely though, right on schedule, all the African women on board burst into wild applause and that high-pitched wailing sound called ululation: ai-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi-yiiiiiiiiiiiiii!!!!!!!!!!!!

As the plane taxied to our gate, two firetrucks drove alongside us, spraying the plane in water like a giant aeronautical carwash. What the? Was it ceremonial, or a disease prevention measure, or were the press people just making sure the plane was all sparkly clean for the tv crews? Who knows.

On leaving the aircraft we were all handed an “inaugural flight” certificate, a Gulf Air pen (a nice heavy one in a box), and as we made our way down the stairs to the tarmac and the waiting red carpet, all of the ladies received a rose tied with a ribbon.

Then I spent forty minutes filling out arrival forms, changing Bahraini dinars into Ethiopian birr (at a rate of one to THIRTY-FOUR - about 25% less than what I should have gotten - a tip for anyone else who might be travelling here: wait til you get to the city and then go to Daschen Bank at the Sheraton Hotel!), buying a visit visa, and moving from one incorrect immigration queue to another, before finally making my way through and out the other side, almost falling into the arms of my driver with relief. Did I check that both my bags went into the boot of that car, dear readers? Oh yes I did! We’ll not be having any repeat of that Indian episode, thank you very much.

So here I am, in Africa at last, with another fantastic stamp in my passport and new adventures ahead of me. Ethiopia! Tick that box, baby!

(PS, the music is still going. Loudly. And a dog is howling along with it. Is there any point at all in going to bed, I wonder?)