Joy!

Oh joy! Happiness, gladness, glee, delight, elation, jubilation ... you get the drift of my mood.

The children went back to school this morning. Home schooling is at an end. The house is quiet and I am calm - at least until 3.30pm.

A world record and a royal wedding

The Kingdom is abuzz with excitement as Bahrain is on track for its first ever entry into the Guinness Book of World Records. What for? Well that's the bit that's not so exciting - it's for having the most signatories on a cyber electronic card. Yes, really.

"Royal wedding card may set record" ran the headline in the local press. More than 3000 well-wishers have so far signed an e-congratulations cybercard marking the marriage of Shaikh Nasser, the King's fourth son. Contacts are underway for this "unprecedented achievement" to be officially registered as a world record.

When I was a girl, I used to receive the latest copy of the Guinness Book of Records each Christmas and marvel over the world's tallest building, fastest athlete or fattest man (he was always the best photo) but I'm not sure as a 9-year-old I would have been even a teensy bit titillated to know which greeting card had the most signatures, cyber or otherwise.

Personally I am far more interested in the event which generated this record attempt - the Royal wedding. Shaikh Nasser is a good-looking bloke, sporty (he leads the Bahrain National Endurance Team in all matters equestrian), a poet (he's apparently published countless poems) and loaded (obviously).

If this had been Europe, his and his bride-to-be's faces would have been plastered on mugs, tea towels and postcards in every souvenir shop for months beforehand; there would have been endless analysis of the couple and their compatibility; and comprehensive TV coverage of The Big Day.

Yet I struggled to find anything about the wedding in the Bahrain press beyond a rather stuffy photograph of the groom, his father and his new father-in-law, Shaikh Mohammed bin Rashid al Maktoum, the Ruler of Dubai.

Of course, this being the Middle East, weddings are celebrated rather differently with separate, totally segregated, parties for the bride and the groom. Still, even if there was no picture of her, it would have been nice to at least know the bride's name, instead of her being only referred to in the press as "a daughter of Shaikh Mohammed."

Yet even as I felt my feminist hackles rising, I wondered whether - religious requirements aside - there was not some sense in keeping the identity of a Royal bride under wraps these days. The newly married couple will be guaranteed privacy to start their new life together, and the bride will not be constantly hounded by the press, derided for her dress sense, criticised for putting on weight/losing weight/changing her hair and all the other things Diana and her ilk have had to put up with.

And hopefully, she won't end up being pursued by paps and driven to her death in a Parisian tunnel.

Qal'at al-Bahrain

We all need a bolt-hole; somewhere we can go and find breathing space when life gets on top of us. But when you live on an island that is only 48km long and 16km wide, and is in the midst of massive development, such places can be hard to find.

Whenever I need a bit of a breather, I head for Qal'at al-Bahrain on the Kingdom's north coast. Although only a stone's throw from the city of Manama, this World Heritage-listed site transports you to another world.

The site is believed to have been the capital of Dilmun, the ancient civilisation on the island which existed as long ago as 2300 BC. In the 16th century, the Portuguese built the fort you see in the photos to protect their trading routes between India, Africa and Europe.

The site has been beautifully restored and has recently been made even better with the opening of a museum and cafe housed in an innovative building on the water's edge -a perfect spot for morning coffee or even lunch.

There aren't many places in today's Bahrain where you can enjoy views of the coast unpunctuated by high rises and highways. But come here, and you can imagine how Bahrain must have been all those years ago when palm trees were plentiful and the developers hadn't hit town.

Just as long as you don't look too far to your right....

Is this progress? I'm not sure.

The joys of home schooling

Bahrain's education authorities have re-closed the primary schools until 18 October. Swine flu strikes again!

The girls' school is preparing weekly packs so that parents can teach their children at home until schools reopen. In other words, we have had home schooling forced upon us.

While many parents have been venting their spleen in the local press, a lone mother wrote in trying to sound a positive note. We must, said she, view this as an extraordinary opportunity to bond with our children. People should be more positive and start seeing this as a situation where the cup is half full rather than half empty. Coffee mornings and gym sessions should be put on hold for a month while we rally round our offspring.

Stirring words! But maybe she's right, I thought. I've never had the remotest desire to home school, but now that I have no choice, why not at least try to do it with a smile on my face?

We started today. After the first hour, I was finding it very difficult to view my cold, only partially-drunk cafe latte as a cup half full. After a further hour of Olivia's arguing, the only bonding I was interested in was of her lips, tightly together, preferably with super glue.

Only another four days to the weekend! And if anyone reading this home schools, my hat goes off to you - I don't know how you do it.

Double celebration

This weekend was a double celebration in our household: it was our 11th wedding anniversary and the end of Ramadan.

According to a friend of mine, 11 years is your steel anniversary - presumably because that's what you need nerves of to get this far in matrimony.

Neither Ian nor I are very good at remembering our anniversary, but luckily Isabelle and Olivia had elaborate plans in place to make up for our shortcomings. Isabelle ensured Ian was given an anniversary card out of her private hand-made collection on which to write suitable sweet-nothings and Olivia was in cahoots with him to buy flowers and lay a special anniversary dinner table.

Bahrain's preparations for Eid (the holiday at the end of Ramadan) were no less elaborate. Timing is crucial. The start of the three day holiday depends on four criteria being fulfilled. According to the vice-president of the Bahrain Astronomical Society these are:"...first, the moon must be born before the sunset, secondly it must be seen after sunset, thirdly the epoch of the calculations must be at Mecca, and fourthly the moon must be witnessed by people". Yes, I was confused too. For the fourth requirement, Bahrain has an imaginatively-named moon sighting committee.

Quaint as all this moon searching is, it does cause organisational problems. School calendars have entries like "Eid holiday starts - probably", which makes holiday planning a bit tricky.

For Muslims, the holiday is a time for great celebration when family and friends to get together, and wish each other "Eid Mubarak!" (Happy Eid). Children traditionally receive the "Eidiah" - a gift of money - from family, friends and neighbours.

I had a hair appointment on Sunday (the first day of Eid). The salon I use is owned by the daughter of a prominent local businessman and it was full of the females in her family being primped, preened and plucked in preparation for the festivities ahead.

Arab women take their grooming extremely seriously; most of them looked more polished when they entered the salon than I did when I left it. I thought the French and Belgians were beauty addicts - hairdressers in Brussels seem to outnumber all other professions - but Bahraini and Saudi ladies are in a different league. My appointment was at 10am and there was already more Prada and Jimmy Choo in the room than on an Oscar red carpet.

My hairdresser (an Aussie) took great delight in whispering a running who's-who commentary of the great and the good coming into the salon. The anecdote of the morning was the story of the lost watch. Apparently one of these poor ladies had misplaced her timepiece the previous week and thought she may have left it in the salon. It was gold with lots of diamonds - bling is big here - and a gift from her father. Estimated value? BD 14,000 (around GBP 22,700). Not really the sort of item you leave lying around while having your weekly mani-pedi then.

Ramadan Kareem!

The Holy Month of Ramadan, when Muslims believe Allah revealed his Holy law to the Prophet Muhammed, is drawing to a close.

During Ramadan, Muslims fast from sunrise to sunset. The fasting is designed to focus attention on Allah and to bring home the plight of the poor and hungry. The whole pace of the Kingdom changes. People start work later (to allow them to have another nap after taking their breakfast or "Suhoor" at about 4.30am) and finish earlier - around 2pm - because by then they are so exhausted from eating and drinking nothing all day in searing temperatures that the only thing they are fit for is bed.

The fast is broken after the "Maghrib" prayers at sunset. The meal taken at this time is called "Iftar", and traditionally consists of a few dates followed by a wholesome soup or stew. Later in the evening, usually around 9 or 10pm, people meet for a "Ghabga" or "gathering" and a more substantial meal. This is a chance to catch up with friends and family. Mosques offer Iftar in their courtyards, especially for the under-privileged and most companies and societies have some sort of ghabga during the month. Here I am with my friend, Jane, heading off to meet other friends for a ghabga in the Ramadan tent at the Novotel. The buffet was sumptuous with extensive hot and cold mezzahs, biryanis and shawarmas, all washed down with juice or soft drinks (the only downside).

During Ramadan no-one is allowed to serve food or drink during the day (so all the restuarants and coffee shops are closed) and anyone caught eating or drinking in public gets a stern warning from the police. Some poor bloke was arrested last week for lighting a cigarette in public. He claims he forgot it was Ramadan. I have resorted to crouching down in the car for furtive sips of water while out and about.

I find the whole fasting thing amazing. Bahrainis must have incredible willpower. This is not some poxy 2-day detox. This is a whole month. Not everyone fasts, of course. Children, the sick, the elderly, and pregnant or menstruating women are exempted. For others, it is a personal choice. I was visiting an Iraqi friend last week and she offered me a glass of vino at 3pm - which was welcome as we have run out of white wine and no more will be on sale until after Ramadan finishes. Neither she nor her family fast, she told me. Nor do many of her friends. She tried it once when she was in her teens. Never again.

Yet many do fast for the entire month. I overheard a Bahraini woman at the girls' gym class yesterday describing how she was suffering from the most debilitating headaches each day as she was so dehydrated. Although she did not drink anything, she did allow herself to crunch a paracetemol now and again to get through the day.

It's the labourers I really feel for. Stuck out in the heat of the day, they must work without food or drink. Despite not having to work during the two or three hottest hours, I don't know how more of them don't keel over with heatstroke or worse.

Shopping hours also change during Ramadan, with shops closed in the afternoon and then re-opening in the early evening until at least 11pm. Shopping malls are packed until well after midnight, with loads of activities for kids and music and entertainment. All to ensure that everyone has a happy Ramadan - or Ramadan Kareem!

Back to school - at last

School re-opened yesterday. At last. Thankfully the relevant Ministries in Bahrain have not gone the way of those in Oman, where primary schools are now closed until December because of the swine flu epidemic.

The girls were a bit nervous; new school and all that. Here they are in their new uniforms.


By the time we reached their new classrooms, we were all somewhat more disheveled. The humidity was so high that the apparent temperature yesterday was 50 degrees. Yes, 50 degrees! It's hard trying to play the part of the Yummy Mummy when your hair is in frizzy corkscrew curls, your make-up is streaming down your face and you have large wet patches all over your torso.

When I got home (and got changed), I read the story of Fawziya Abdullah Youssef in the local paper. Fawziya was from Yemen. When she was 11, her father married her to a 24-year-old man who works in Saudi Arabia. She has just died giving birth to a stillborn after a difficult delivery. She was 12.

All of which puts into sharp perspective any jitters my girls may have been feeling about their first day at their swanky new private school.