Protests - a week on

Over the past week, the Pearl Roundabout - please note, foreign reporters, it is a large, normally busy roundabout and NOT a square - has continued to be the focus of the anti-government protests in Bahrain. After the eviction of protesters just over a week ago, tanks took up positions in the city to prevent protesters returning and there were deadly clashes between protesters and the security forces.

The following days saw national strikes and more marches. Some expats left the island. The girls' school was closed for two days and once it re-opened, the usual fire drill was replaced by a "lock-down" drill during which all classroom doors were locked, blinds drawn and the kids were instructed to sit silently on the floor until danger passed. All a bit nerve-wracking.

The Crown Prince then ordered the withdrawal of troops and police from the streets and anti-government protesters once again took over the roundabout. A hard core has remained camped out there ever since, with others joining them each evening after work to show solidarity. The atmosphere has become once again that of a large festival, with food stalls, canteens, barbers, stages for speakers and an ad-hoc press centre.

Various large marches towards the roundabout have been organised over the course of the past week, with the emphasis on peaceful protesting. The largest protest was last Tuesday, when hundreds of thousands headed to the roundabout, blocking motorways and causing traffic chaos. But there were no reports of violence. I got caught up in the queues and saw cars full of families heading into town with Bahraini flags flying from their windows and roofs. The new slogan of the protesters has become: No Sunni, No Shi'ite We are all Bahraini. Their key demands are a change of government, a constitutional monarchy and the release of all political prisoners.

A comprehensive national dialogue is now underway to allow all parties to voice their demands and concerns. Hundreds of political prisoners were released earlier this week, a prominent opposition leader has been allowed to return from self-imposed exile in the UK and four cabinet ministers have been replaced.

Over the past couple of weeks there have also been massive pro-government protests, lauding the achievements of the Royal Family and the government. The local English daily newspaper has been full of letters from Bahrainis and expats alike furious at what they see as irresponsible, one-sided journalism by the western media. Bahrain, they say, is not Tunisia or Egypt, the people here are free, women can vote, work and drive and the hijab is not obligatory, education and health services are free and housing and petrol heavily subsidised.

Whatever your view, the events of the past weeks have deeply affected the country, both emotionally and economically. The Formula One has been cancelled as have the majority of the acts at the country's popular Spring of Culture Festival (yup, Julio Inglesias is not coming to croon) and many countries are advising their citizens not to travel here, which is a disaster for the fledgling travel industry.

While day-to-day life here for most of us is more or less back to normal, we wait with interest to see what the next weeks bring and how Bahrain weathers this storm.

Protest

We spent last week closely following events as they unravelled in Egypt. As we walked home from dinner on Friday evening, dozens of cars with Egyptian flags flying from the windows were out on the streets in our district honking their horns and singing: Mubarak had gone.

We have spent this week watching events unravel here. Protests were arranged for Sunday and Monday, to coincide with official celebrations marking the tenth anniversary of the Bahrain National Charter or constitution. Spurred on by events in Egypt, the protests gained momentum and soon thousands were camping out at the Pearl Roundabout, a well-known Bahrain landmark and one which we pass each day on our way to school. Helicopters have hovered constantly overhead since Sunday.

I was woken about four o'clock this morning by a constant stream of wailing sirens and saw from the TV reports that police had dispersed the protesters at the Pearl Roundabout; the sirens were ambulances taking the injured to the main hospital which is close to our house.

Today helicopters are still hovering, there are police roadblocks throughout the city and apparently tanks are positioned in some key areas. Shopping malls and one of the main supermarkets have closed because of disturbances and people seem to be panic buying at the supermarket I use. We are being advised to stay at home, although a rumoured curfew has not yet been announced.

Tomorrow is Friday, the start of the weekend. A pro-Government rally is planned for after morning prayers at the Grand Mosque. Pearl Roundabout has been cordoned off to prevent anti-Government protesters from gathering there. We can only wait to see if they mobilise elsewhere.

Shopping for fish

When we lived in Brussels, we had a fishmongers on our street. Family-run for generations, it was enormously popular and on Sunday mornings the Bruxellois would queue out of the door for the fresh mussels, prawns, sole and monkfish to conjure up some culinary delight for their family lunch. Fish was filleted in front of you on a huge, ancient wooden block and on your way out you could pick up a bottle of the best Sancerre or Chablis to enjoy with your purchase.

The Bahrainis are also fish-lovers and many families have been fishermen for generations. They have been suffering in recent years as reclamation and development work has not only robbed them of their harbours and jetties, but has also led to a loss of fish stock to Qatari and Iranian waters.

While some fish is available in supermarkets, the best place to go for the freshest catch is the fish market. Fishermen yell out the prices of their daily catch, the floor swims with briny water and the smell by midday is overwhelming. It is a part of Bahrain that, for now, remains unchanged, unmodernised. And while the fishmongers may not have the panache of their Belgian counterparts, they have a charm all of their own.

New Year, New You

Every paper and magazine I pick up at the moment is full of those early January articles extolling the virtues of the post-Christmas detox, the latest exercise fads or the most recent innovations in skincare.

I arrived back from the UK with flu, and looking decidedly less healthy and more sallow than when I left Bahrain in December. So I decided that perhaps I should heed the advice in some of those articles and pay more attention to my skin.

Unfortunately, most of the new, high-tech skincare products on offer in the UK have not yet arrived in Bahrain. But my scouring of the shelves of the local pharmacy did reveal a range of alternatives, my favourite of which (located right next to the New Zealand bovine colostrum pills) was this offering from the Philippines:

This herbal beauty soap promises to renew damaged skin tissues and fade away blemishes and contains a healthy dose of placental enzymes to help you on your way. The box doesn't specify where the enzymes are sourced.

A quick bit of internet research revealed that placenta extracts have been a popular health and beauty product in the Far East for centuries and products containing them are now being touted by swish Swiss clinics and top-end skincare lines beloved of Madonna and the like.

My sister has just had a baby. We were discussing her placenta only last week. Somehow I can't bring myself to open the packet.

Travel chaos

I have neglected the blog. I have been busy working, mothering and preparing for Christmas.

We debated long and hard about whether to go to the UK for Christmas; December is such a glorious time of the year in Bahrain. But the girls were adamant. They wanted snow.

And snow we had. In abundance. Too much of the damn stuff. So much so that although Heathrow was open when we left Bahrain on Saturday, by the time we reached UK airspace six hours later, the wretched snow had closed it.

We diverted to Frankfurt, along with 70 other planes. We waited on the plane for four hours before being told Heathrow would not be re-opening that day. We waited another hour for a bus to come and take us to the terminal.

"Look, snow!" I told the girls as we disembarked. They didn't look enthused.

Once inside the terminal building, no-one seemed to know what to do with us. The Gulf air ground staff seemed to have vapourised. A nice lady from the airport was getting harassed. People were getting angry. The airport lady rang control and told them she was abandoning her post unless help arrived. The lucky passengers were finally steered through passport control and onto a bus to a hotel in Wiesbaden. Those without EU passports or visas were shown the transit lounge. I silently thanked the Lord for Ian's Belgian passport.

Now if you are going to have an enforced two-night stopover, Wiesbaden's not a bad place to have it. It has an attractive town square, a river and we were in a comfortable hotel. The only problem was no-one had any luggage. And it was Sunday and thanks to a strong "Keep Sunday Special" movement, nothing opens in Germany on a Sunday. So no toothbrushes, no clean undies and for many, no outdoor clothes. We were lucky. At least we each had a coat and closed shoes.

By day two, there was a real Dunkirk spirit in the hotel. GF003 passengers were the only guests and it was easy to identify people as they were all still wearing the same clothes. Friendships were forged in the hotel bar and rumours abounded of when Heathrow would reopen, whether Frankfurt would close, whether we would be home for Christmas.

Hotel staff tried to keep us amused by sending us en masse to the town's Christmas market. Off we trooped through the snow. The local gluhwein drinkers were seen giving their empty glasses a bemused glance as a group of veiled Bahraini women walked past, followed by a British girl with flip-flops and shower caps on her feet wrapped in a Crown Plaza duvet. You had to hand it to her for improvisation.

Monday morning brought good news. Heathrow was open. We landed. We cheered. We stopped. We couldn't get to the terminal because of the snow. The entertainment system was switched back on (never a good sign). We waited. An hour later, the plane shuffled forward and the terminal was in sight. We stopped. The Sri Lankan Airways plane that was due to move off our stick had developed a serious technical problem. We would have to wait some more. At least I could finish the movie.

Heathrow was chaos. London was worse. We passed the poor, shivering passengers waiting in the five-hour-long queue for the Eurostar and boarded a train to Peterborough. I have never been so glad to get there.

We went shopping today. The queues were horrendous. I've forgotten how crowded the UK is.

"It will be a long wait," I told Isabelle.

"That's OK, mummy," she said. "In the past few days I've got used to waiting."

By Royal invitation

I had a taste of Kate Middleton's future this week. On the morning her engagement to Prince William was announced, I was being presented to Her Highness Shaikha Sabika, first wife of King Hamad of Bahrain.

It's Eid Al Adha and a friend of mine, who is an Ambassador's wife, had been invited to attend the Shaikha's majlis (a special gathering) to offer good wishes. She's allowed to bring along fellow upstanding members of the community and so it was I found myself in the Ambassadorial Jag heading to the royal palace at Riffa.

As we swept up the long driveway lined on each side with gold coloured lampposts topped with a castle, my friend pointed out the Royal stables where a magnificent collection of Arabian horses is housed.

The palace itself is enormous. We were dropped at the door and entered a huge glass-roofed room with marble floors and chandeliers. Off to one side was another large room with sofas and low tables stretching its length and magnificent rugs in the middle. At the end of the room, under the Royal crest, stood the Shaikha, dressed in an exquisite jalabiya and with a long necklace of the largest diamonds, rubies and emeralds I've ever clapped eyes on. Without her head covering she looked younger than in her photos.

Protocol at such gatherings demands that we first waited in line to be presented to the Shaikha (curtsy was optional) and then had to be presented to all the other members of the Royal family at the female only gathering. We could then retire to one of the sofas, drink juice from a glass engraved with the Royal crest, scoff one of the cakes on offer, be doused with smoke from an incense burner and make polite conversation with other dignatories before once again lining up to bid farewell to the Shaikha and Royal family members.

Before leaving, we of course checked out the Royal loos (very posh) and were expected to spray ourselves with one of a huge selection of perfumes set out on tables next to the exit. The smell as we lined up for our limo alongside the other Ambassador's wives was quite over-powering.

Who knows, one day Kate Middleton may be invited to the Shaikha's majlis as part of the endless round of Royal engagements which will now become her life. And, fascinating though the experience was, I don't envy her one little bit.

Happy Halloween!

I hadn't realised it before, but Halloween is big business in the Middle East, which is strange given that it is a mix of Celtic practices, Catholic and Roman religious rituals with a few European folk traditions thrown in. Yet the Bahrainis love it.

Our compound takes Halloween very seriously. The owners, a wealthy Bahraini family, even go so far as to deck out an entire section of their home as a haunted house. The "Ghost Gazette" was delivered to the door last week, with instructions for Halloween proceedings and for the first time ever, I felt obliged to invest in some cobwebs and spiders, costumes for the girls and bucketfuls of sweets and lollies. And our black cat, Enid, was an authentic live accessory on the night.

The shop where I went to purchase these Halloween goodies was packed with Bahrainis clutching everything from flashing ghoul lights to vampire fangs. They were queuing out of the door and two women in abayas were having a heated exchange about who had seen a witch's hat first.

At just before six this evening, the first Trick or Treaters arrived and it was a steady stream for the next couple of hours - at least 150 people, I reckon, including quite a lot of dodgy looking teenagers (why are they still interested?) and a fair few domestic staff clearly after the free choccies like everybody else.

Isabelle dressed as a dwarf and Olivia was a witch. She managed to chip her front tooth over the weekend, so could also sport a crooked smile. The tooth now has an infection and she may need an expensive dental procedure. The false teeth I bought her for her costume would have been a far cheaper witch's grin.

Happy Halloween! What did you get up to?