Off to the races

Waiting for the bus to Sharjah city yesterday (my campus is out of town in an area appropriately called 'University City'), I strike up a conversation, as often happens in the Mideast, with a total stranger.  The guy is named Tajudin, or "Taj" for short, and is from the Sudan but has worked in the UAE for sixteen years.  Buses move slowly so we had a long chat and he insisted on paying my busfare.  As we made our way toward the city center, he invited me to join him and his friends for a trip to Dubai for the horse races that evening.  Here is the kind of thing that never happens in the U.S.  Nicole and I had met one of our closest friends in Lebanon--Nisreen from Jordan--on a bus.  People on buses seem to want to chat.  We exchanged numbers, both anticipating a day of hanging out in Sharjah, and he told me to let him know about the races by late-afternoon.

I think I walked as much yesterday as I ever have in my life.  I wanted to get a sense of how to navigate Sharjah on foot, at least for the time being (probably be too hot to walk in another month, given that the past four days have all climbed to 81-82 degrees) and made my way to all the major souks for lots and lots of browsing.  The central souk, or "blue souk," is the place for Islamic clothing, carpets from Iran, weird old antiques, and everyday items too.  Two area of old, more traditional looking, semi-outdoor (covered and cooled) souks offer pretty much everything you can think of: textiles, jewelry, food and spices, junk, you name it.  Like the markets in Tyre or Saida, Lebanon, or Homs, Syria, or, really, most cities in the region.

I had read about a Persian restaurant that sounded amazing but couldn't find it...a big part of why I walked so much.  I WILL FIND THAT PLACE EVENTUALLY.  So I ate in a little cafe that seems to serve primarily the guys who run some of the old stands in the souks.  You could wash your hands at a little open-air sink and then sit on cushioned benches.  I was definitely the only Western person there, and the only person eating my biryani with silverware.  All they had was rice biryani, but you could choose fish, chicken, or mutton.  The guy brought out broth with a big piece of some type of squash in it, a little plate with shredded cabbage and a couple pieces of cucumber, and a huge mounded plate of amazing rice biryani.  Big chunks of chicken, cinnamon sticks, cloves, various dried fruits and spice pods you had to be careful not to bite into.  Real deal.  Equivalent of about $3.

So after a day out in the sun, power walking, I'm sweaty.  Pop into the "Mega Mall," wash my face and hands, get an espresso, and call Taj, who tells me to go outside, get in a taxi, and then hand the phone to the driver.  I do.  Taj instructs the driver to take me to this grocery store where Taj is out front with all his Sudanese friends.  I join them on the stoop until their van arrives and we chat.  Abbas runs inside and buys a bottle of water for me, and one for him.  "Diabetic," Taj whispers to me.  They've hired a full-sized van to take them to Dubai.  Nineteen of us pile in, clowncar style.  "Now we'll go pick up everybody else," says Taj.  We go to another grocery store.  One guy comes out and after much talk about the most appropriate seating arrangements, he gets in the middle of the front seat and the only woman in the van sits next to him by the door.  Then a husband and wife climb into the back of the van, more conversation (pretty sure it was about decency because I hear the word "haram" a lot), they get out, and we head to Dubai.

Traffic is snarled, so I comment that there are more cars than people in the UAE.  Taj laughs, translates my joke, and everybody laughs.  Newspapers circulate with information about the evening's races.  Taj explains that "gambling" is not Islamic, so the Meydan race track works like this: you fill out a card with your guesses and pay no money to enter the track or turn your guesses in.  But you can still win big money.  The purse comes entirely from advertising revenue.

We get to the track and upon entry are given a scantron sheet to pick the top three finishers in each of the six races.  You fill in your cell phone number and get a text message if you win any money.  Taj helps me fill out my card, we find seats, and he goes off to pray (there's a big prayer area on the lower level).  The place is maybe seventy-five percent Sudanese, who apparently love horse races, and then a handful of Gulf Arabs and Westerners.  Many Sudanese have brought kettles (not thermoses...kettles or pots) of tea and glasses with them.  Periodically you hear a glass break and each time, somebody jokes that they must have had too much to drink, always prompting hearty laughs.  The races are fun but last about ninety seconds.  Then, you wait thirty minutes for the next race, generally while reviewing the race card and checking the horse and jockey bios.  They're really into it.

Alas, we won no money, but, hey, we didn't spend any either.  Amazing people watching with some friendly guys, too.  I told Taj next time we should go to the camel races instead (he goes periodically but clearly is all about the horses).