How to prune a palm tree

I came home the other day to be confronted by a strange rustling sound in the garden. Looking up, I saw the gardener up one of my palm trees with a machete and no form of safety equipment. And it's a long way up (or down, depending on how you look at it).

It turns out that date palms need pruning at this time of year, so the gardener shins his way up the trunk using only a small band of cloth attached to a circular chain for support. Once he reaches the top of the trunk, he slithers out of the cloth and climbs, totally unsupported onto the palm leaves, draws the machete out of his belt and begins hacking away.

Pruning over, he hurls the machete down to the ground (luckily I'd ushered the kids into the house), wriggles back into his "harness", poses for a quick photo and them shimmies back down the tree. Time taken: 10 minutes.

Now imagine the same scenario back in Europe: the health and safety issues; hydraulic platforms to transport the gardener; the required permits; not to mention the cost.

Some aspects of life in Bahrain are definitely simpler.

Urban oasis post script

For my new follower, Hibiscus Bloem, thanks for joining and here is my very own hibiscus bloom. Photo taken this morning in my new front garden!

Urban Oasis

Most houses in Bahrain are surrounded by high concrete walls; not for security (there are few break-ins) but for privacy. After all, if you're not supposed to wander the streets uncovered, the last thing the locals want is for everyone in the neighbourhood to be able to peer at the women in their family over the garden gate.

And while it is useful at times to be totally secluded, after two years of living behind these walls, I began to feel a little, well, hemmed-in.

So last week we moved to a compound just round the corner. Normally I wouldn't be one for compound living, but this place is different. It's still in the centre of town, the houses are older and, in estate agent-speak, ooze colonial charm and best of all, they have large, mature gardens. I've had my name down for months and someone finally left.

Yes, I know. A voluntary house move - madness. And this week I've been knee, no, waist-deep in boxes, dealing with unreliable phone/internet/gas and electricity companies and wondering why I have put myself through moving hell yet again. Nine times in fifteen years, no less.

But then I walk outside and see this, which I think you will agree is infinitely better than my old view of sand-coloured concrete.

I can't tell you how uplifting it is to look out onto trees and flowers every day. The grass seed is being delivered tomorrow and with the help of my new gardener, Joy from Kerala, I am well on the way to creating my very own urban oasis in the heart of Manama.