So, to quickly summarise our last #Doobydoo – #WATERYWILDWADINESS aka #SCREAMDOWNTHESLIDE, rapidly followed by a quick snifter and a long lie down!

Pulse normal.  Breathing normal.  Everything else normal?….Don’t push your luck!

God and I were due to go for our first “el-posho” meal the very same evening of the Wadi-wobbles.  We had a table booked in the “Al Mahara” restaurant in the Burj al Arab – see link for detail and wowsers photos – so some serious glamourising was required!.  Mucho make-up, Louise Kennedy magenta beaded top, silver sandals, check check check. Hair?  Well, you can’t win ’em all!

https://www.jumeirah.com/en/hotels-resorts/dubai/burj-al-arab/restaurant-at-burj-al-arab/al-mahara/

Between Hotels

It was a lovely balmy night.  Everywhere was lit up like Christmas – see photograph above.  We sauntered across from the Jumeirah, to our 6 star destination. – whoops!  I must admit to being a ball of excitement; the thrill of it all. 🙂

The “Al Mahara” is an “underwater” restaurant in the Burj which is accessed via a lift decked out as a B Movie submarine.  You’re escorted in by the ‘Captain’ who then closes the door, switches on the engine and submerges the vessel undersea, no decompression required!  All goes quiet, apart from that metallic “Titantic going under the waves” cranking groaning noise you get in marine vessels.  The ‘submarine’ shudders a little and then lands on the “bottom of the sea”.  The doors open, and voila, lights, camera, action. You walk out into a gold shell like affair, facing a glass wall behind which, is a larger than life size aquarium.

#Jawdrops #OMG #Stunning #Various other emotive words

Mahara 2

You are now officially under the sea, “swimming with the fishes”.

It was like being surrounded by the cast of “Finding Nemo” – little beady eyes were watching from between the fronds.

Nemo

So natch I couldn’t eat fish – well it wouldn’t be right would it, with all those little “gillies” looking on at you eating their siblings, cousins, extended family!

We decided to blow the budget and chose the 6 course tasting menu with wine pairing e.g. wines chosen by the Sommelier to match each course – aka – how to get langered in 6 easy stages!

The menu was stunning, the food even “stunnier”.  In deference to my fishy friends, I let God eat the fish based dishes, but obvs I held onto the wine, thereby ensuring a fast-track to “pissendom”.

We started with the mandatory glass of champagne on arrival, followed by “l’amouse bouche”, some flummery ‘one midget spoon’s worth and it’s gone’ affair.

It was all very swish, very slick, and very, very intoxicating.

We worked our way through the various dishes with half glasses of the Sommelier chosen wines (well restaurant sized measures as opposed to wine o’clock goblet ones).

The dessert was one of those ‘plata mor’ teeny creation affairs – scoff, scoff gone.

Then we had coffee and a liqueur (sure why not) – I do believe mine was an Armagnac which I dispensed into said coffee and drowned with brown sugar.

Al Mahara Al Mahara 2

It is a well known fact that alcohol lingers in the bloodstream, riding the tide around the body beneath shoulder level, until such time as the body wants to stand.  Then wham bam and whoosh, straight up to the brain, which is immediately discharged of all responsibility towards feet and legs. #WibbleWobble, HorseyHobble.

Using the aforementioned God as my personal zimmerframe, I made my way, with himself, up to the SkyView Bar, in a “sure the night is only young” airy attitude, as you do.

Bar Burj

We had another glass of vino and looked out on the splendiferous aerial views of Dubai (the Burj is 321m or just over 1,000ft high).  The view is beyond awesome, especially at night.

Burj Bar at night

After we were done quaffing, we decided to call it a night – easy decision really, we could barely speak, think or move – and literally, in very un-6 star disgraceful fashion, fell into lift, across the lobby and out the door, whereupon we were hoisted by very kindly by patient staff into a golf buggy laid on to take patrons between hotels.

Of course, we thought this was hilarious; cue big fit of very childish giggling, rapidly followed by the one thing that Irish (and half Irish half Welsh) folk do everywhere they go, after they’ve had “scoops”.  Yep, singsong. “Hahahahaha – you’re all very quiet down the back …”   The poor driver didn’t know what to make of us, but the furrows on his brow were smoothed by the several dirham which God firmly squished into his open palm! #yougreasemineandI’llgreaseyours.

A good night had been had … the trauma of the Wild Wadi park was now firmly obliterated by a myriad of alcoholic waves washing me in their toxic waters.

I went to bed – well I must have done, I woke up in it!  But oh dear, waking was one thing, “being” was another.  A very cold shower, a very light breakfast (water) and a long, lie under an Olympic sized beach umbrella was the order of play the next day.  Derv was Swerved and would be until such time as the toxins left the building!.

WineBottles

ANON (as they say in all the best literary circles!).

A new dawn, a new day, and we’re all feeling much chipper and cheepier!.

Swervel decided that she wanted to go kayaking, Derval the brave, that great Gaelic adventuress was off again.  God was not inclined (there is a pattern forming here isn’t there!!).

I booked myself in and at the appointed time went off by myself (again) whilst “Super Slick” stayed at the end of sandy strip super cool bar, having a cold beer.   He put on his headphones, got immersed in his book and forgot all his troubles and woes (this would include me, natch!).

There I was and the guy in charge hands me the helmet (hate!), the life jacket and the paddle.  He told me to wave my arms, should I run into any difficulty. (laughs sardonically).

Jum Marina Jum Marina 2

After some instruction, I was put sitting in the kayak, strapped in and with a light shove, off I sailed into paradise.

“Sail away, sail away, sail away” – words Enya, sentiment Mine.

It quickly became very apparent that I did not know how to paddle a kayak.  Simples, not!  “But” said I to no-one in particular, “It’s ok, I’ll figure it out” – that good old can do attitude never fails to get me in the manure!

The lagoon I was in was surrounded by the Marina – just to give you the picture.  There were several yachts moored in the docking area, well not yachts, YACHTS.

Gimpy Mc Swerve a la kayak in a lagoon surrounded by mega yachts, nice.  Burnt red face, frizzled hair dot com, the picture of maritime elegance.

I was “pottering” around, trying to find my “sea-feet” so to speak, when my attention was caught by a sign

Dun Dun DDDUUUUUUUUNNNN

“Jellyfish BEWARE”

Accompanied by something along the lines of – If you fall into the water – DO NOT MOVE!

I often find that moving in the sea is kind of essential to stay alive myself, but yet again, says I “Yep no bother” and off I went.

Paddle left, paddle right, ‘cept I kept going right,

and right,

and right,

and BOING!

Crash number 1 into Yacht number 1.  And then I went into reverse,

BOING!

into Yacht number 2.  So then I tried a different tactic and ended going around in two circles and hitting Yacht number 1 again

at which point the owner came out, big scorpy chops, flaming cheeks.

He shouted,

I cried,

He apologised.  He then told me how to use the oars, and steer the kayak.  I was duly humble and thankful, we parted on good terms and off I went.  All was well.  I was getting the hang of this. Yay, simples.  I had the knack.

I went around the lagoon, all happy bunny, and then I went to the edge of the Marina, it was all very Titanic.

I turned around to go back, and it was then I noticed there was a

Big

F**k off

Catamaran

pulling out of the dock.

catamaran

Ok, no sweat, methinks.

I am here and he is there, and he will see me, course he will, all is well!

Except for the fact that the motion of the catamaran was making waves in the water.  I tried to row forward, but the waves pushed me back.  He was heading for the exit from which I was coming.  It began to dawn on me that the dude was not noticing the dudette.  It was all about the catamaran, nothing about the kayak.

I started shouting at him (haha – yeah, #idiot).  I waved my paddle (good for toning upper arms).

I was practically swinging it over my head, whilst screaming at the top of my voice.  But to no avail.  He couldn’t hear me over his blaring stereo; couldn’t see me over the lip of the catamaran.

Oh God – here we go.

All cool, decked out in his Ralph Lauren,

He came.

He didn’t saw.

He conquered.

The catamaran hit the bejesus outta ma wee kayak.  I lost my paddle.  Did a full 360 degree turn underwater, and bobbing back up again (no, it was not thrilling) without picking up any stray jellyfish, I was left sitting there.

WET.

PADDLE-LESS.

SPLUTTERING.

I waved,

I cried,

I screamed.

Nothing!!

Eventually the man of my dreams began to wonder where I was and came a lookin’.  He espied Little Miss Red Face sitting mid lagoon, frantically swinging her helmet over her head!!  Small mercies.

Steve Silvermint, our cool clean hero (you had to be there) got into a canoe and paddled out to my rescue.

AWH!

This was followed by a lot of tears, a lot of hugging, a lot of wringing out clothes (yet again), more brandy (any excuse at this stage!!) and another long lie down in dark contemplative silence.

brandy brandy

All this and we’re only half way through the week folks!! More to come.  Caching the Cashmere and Sifting the Sands.  The Dooby continues.

I’ll leave these fond maritime memories with a toon!….A bit of flow, something which in Dubai, I appeared to be extremely lacking.

ENYA – ORINOCO FLOW

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