Escape to the sand

The first thing that catches your eye, when you look out of the aeroplane window, as Dubai approaches, is the vast expanse of brown boring sand staring from below. Which makes you really glad to see all that concrete within the city; and there’s a lot of it considering the world’s tallest building – the Burj Khalifa towers over the Dubai skyline. The never-ending malls were offering you huge discounts and complimentary weight loss programs – because of the amount of walking you end up doing. But though the malls are attractive and you have to exercise an unbelievable amount of restraint to prevent that plastic card from being swiped, it gets boring after a point – even if you are a die-hard shopaholic. Which is why a desert safari is a good getaway from the busy city life into that sand again – only from up close it’s golden and slightly intimidating.


Dune rider
The innocent looking SUV which picked you up from the hotel transforms into a beast when it reaches the desert after a ’tame’ one hour, 120 km/hr, drive on the highway. A turn of the knob to activate the four wheel drive, reduce the tyre pressure, ask your passengers to fasten their seat belts – yes even those at the back — and the sand dunes are ready to be attacked. The next thirty minutes will be mostly spent in two different ways by the passengers. Either there will be hoots of approval every time the driver would do any of the following – speed to the top of a dune, get the front wheels into the air and then let the vehicle slither down the dune using its own weight or go down a sand slope sideways with the vehicle trying its best to topple. Or you end with white knuckles and a moderately terrified expression which refuses to let go of your face even after you have gotten out of the vehicle.

Sand surfer
Another interesting activity on offer is sand boarding. The equipment is simply a skateboard without wheels. You strap your legs onto it and then slide down a sand dune. Simple till you try it. Three attempts by me to go down the slope without sliding on my bottom for some part of it, proved to be highly unsuccessful.

While everyone was trying different techniques – position, alignment, slope structure, you name the excuses we had it – one little girl put us firmly in place by executing a perfect descent, without so much as a shake of the hand.

A hearty laugh later and with lots of sand in the shoes, the group then headed towards the camp area where there were different stalls set up. From camel rides to smoking the sheesha (hookah), to their local coffee (black with dates as sweeteners) to henna painting and taking your pictures clicked with falcons it was an interesting assortment of activities for those in the mood.

Dubai belly/hips don’t lie
After the sumptuous dinner was the last act for the evening - the belly dancing performance. The woman performer, apart from making her hips move astonishingly, was able to keep the show interesting by inviting the audience to dance with her. No, no slow dance! From the bald headed guy who was asked to balance a stick on his head and then shake his ample belly to the group of girls who had a blast attempting the steps, it was a fun-filled session. Not to mention the freedom to ogle the married men with their wives sitting right next to them had, without batting an eyelid needless to say, at the beautiful performer.

While we returned to our hotel, there is also the option of staying in the camp site and then watch the lazy sun rise from behind one of the sand dunes.

It’s a good getaway for an evening. From adrenaline pumping activities to a fun dance session, a desert safari offers an entertaining concise package. And for around two thousand Indian rupees, considering the activities and the hotel pick-up and drop, it’s a very profitable deal. Next time you find yourself in Dubai; don’t give the desert safari a miss.

Do it for Liverpool

The more people try to tell me I must not base every thought that occurs to me on football terms, the more convinced I become - that I should not talk to those people anymore. In fact, I should cut them out of my life just like I have managed to toss away the Manchester United acquaintances. I have begun to think that that may not be the end of my attempts at pruning my life of such phoniness, and if Liverpool don't get a move on soon enough, isolation from all shall have to be the solution. No one will be spared.

The plan is to adopt a JD Salinger-like separation from the world of happy football fans, and instead obsess and wallow alone. The day the Premier League is won, I shall emerge, pheonix-like, proud and happy. That is for the long term, but what of the present crisis at Anfield?

In these times of trouble, Nick Hornby's Fever Pitch is the only thing that speaks sense to me. The last week has been spent with a pencil carefully marking out sentences I have read so many times before, but they never get old. The only problem with applying the football-as-metaphor theme to life is that when your own ain't going so great, the added football depression makes it just that much harder to bear. So in another desperate stab at taking control and winning over the football gods, I decided to first put my affairs in order, and then hope my club can do the same. They do look like they need the inspiration, even if it's from all the way over here.

After agonising over quitting a job which seems to have lost its feel for around 15 months now, I finally pulled the plug this week. The cold feet and nervousness which took over my brain and the pit of my stomach every time an opportunity for discussion arose were laid to rest by one simple self-blackmailing sentence: "Do it for Liverpool."

And I did. Insanity, I agree. But I'm afraid that's the way it has to be.

It feels like the right decision, but apart from the all-important peace of mind, I'm expecting a change in fortunes in Merseyside too. It's all connected — football, work, life and its lessons. The pattern makes it seem like it was just meant to be, I realise it now.

Nearly four years ago, at the interview for the job I just quit – my first and only so far -- I was asked to describe the last sporting moment that made me go giddy. In my mind, I still remember, the image of Robbie Fowler celebrating his return to the Reds with his first goal since transferring from Manchester City in the 5-2 win over Fulham (2006) came to mind, and I spoke about it with a silly smile on my face, the kind they say you get when you fall in love.

That one was an important result, coming as it did at a time of indifferent form, made even more special by the identity of the goalscorer, and as for new beginnings and revivals, it's that football result I associate with the celebration of getting my first job.

Back to these hard times of today, four years on, where every Liverpool match is watched with doors closed for fear of the curses being too audible.

The latest heartbreak as people continue trying to prepare me for the blow that fourth place may not be achieved after all - the 1-0 agony against Wigan. The moment the goal went in, I indulged in a bit of excessive tear-shedding, a reaction to the horrible workday and the terrible end it had come to.

The next day, I knew it was time, that sickening display of football had explained it all to me. Within 20 minutes of entering office, the resignation had been processed. It was the end of an era. I want the sad football to end too. Just contemplating another season in the Europa league brings on a panic attack.

This voice inside me says it will all change now, since I have uncharacteristically taken the first step.
I deserve it.

The newly found Order of Saint Nicklas

What stood out the most from the Arsenal versus Porto Champions League encounter?
Was it the sheepish smile of Bacary Sagna, one that only a right-back can have, after missing a rare but uncomplicated chance to get his name on the already crowded goalscorers list that Tuesday night? Or was it the Professor, in a rare display of emotion, jumping up and down like a kid who got his candy back?
Could it be the innocent bewilderment on Andrei Arshavin’s face, after he made a total mess of what could be effortlessly the easiest chance to score in the match?
How about the little trick artiste Samir Nasri weaving through three Porto defenders, maintaining his balance, firing a scorcher into the far corner of the goal and then spreading his arms to fly – smug in the knowledge that after producing that mesmerising piece of magic, he could even miraculously - fly.
But maybe what beats them all is Nicklas Bendtner managing to score his first-ever hat-trick in the senior league; considered a certain improbability in the eyes of most except his own, of course.
After a hat-trick of misses against an opponent as burnley as Burnley, it was nothing short of a miracle to see him lunge forward and actually get his feet to hit the ball into the goal in the very first serious attempt that he and Arsenal had. And horror of horrors, he manages to put it in again – the easiest of chances -- but he had got them before and the ball never seemed to obey his command. And then came the third – gift wrapped in the form of a penalty.
Anyone in the church world keeping tab? That’s three miracles in the span of a mere 90 minutes. That’s sainthood for Nicklas.
The entire Arsenal clan, from Arsene Wenger to the obsessive Nick Hornby, and from the pseudo United and Chelsea crowd to them dirty Spurs, all will vouch that these are indeed miracles that demand the immediate induction of this Arsenal striker into sainthood.
Which saint in the history of sainthood has managed to perform three miracles in the span of a football match – that too without extra time?
So that’s it then: Saint Nicklas and then lets sell him off to the highest bidder. Will get a better price that way and we can buy a better striker. But the Great Dane did the job for Arsenal when they needed him the most, and the Gunners are grateful for that.
Every Arsenal faithful lives yet another day.