Evacuation

Very early on Wednesday morning, a friend in Bahrain called my mobile. "They're going to clear the Roundabout," she said. "The Embassy are advising people who don't have to be here to leave. Could be time to go."

I dragged myself out of bed to make a cup of tea, still uncertain of whether we should leave. As I stood at the kettle there were cries of "God is great!" and the gunfire started. Lots of it. And the sound of tear gas canisters exploding. And more gunfire. It was indeed time to go. "Don't go outside!" I yelled at the kids and promptly booked us flights.

Instructions came from Ian's office that it was not safe to leave the compound. I ran up to the roof and saw a huge cloud of black smoke rising from Pearl Roundabout and Apache helicopters circling overhead. There were several explosions which I later learned were gas canisters, which had been used for cooking by the protesters, exploding. And after an hour, just a deathly quiet.

As I packed suitcases for me and the girls, Ian was on the landline trying to sort out work contingencies: mobile coverage had been cut and the internet was painfully slow. He, along with most other fathers, has stayed to work.

We set off a short time later for the airport. At the end of our road was a checkpoint with a tank, an armoured personnel carrier and a rather intimidating looking policeman in a black balaclava and mask with a rifle slung over his shoulders. He politely told us we could not pass and would have to take a detour to the airport. We passed a further three such checkpoints before arriving. You could count the number of cars on the normally busy motorway on one hand.

There is now a tense calm in Bahrain. Troops are no longer on the streets, but police checkpoints are everywhere. Malls and restaurants are beginning to re-open for parts of the day, although some areas are subject to curfews. Schools are to remain closed until at least 27 March.

So in the meantime the girls and I are in the UK with my folks - an unscheduled family visit. No gunshots, no helicopters, just calm. Last month I helped Isabelle with a project on World War II evacuees. Little did I know that a short time later we would be evacuees ourselves.

Showing Solidarity

It's all kicking off here again. Yesterday on the way to school I had to run the gauntlet of youths dragging barbed wire and industrial bins across the road in vigilante-style road blocks. "Look straight ahead and don't wave!" I instructed the six children in the car as we weaved our way through.

Later I went to the Seef area to renew my car insurance; this is Bahrain and it can't be done on the phone. I had to go the back way as the main road was blocked by protesters. On arriving at the Solidarity insurance offices on the 11th floor of the Seef office block I was greeted by an open-mouthed Bahraini in thobe and ghutrah.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. "We're closed - none of my staff could get in."

"I'm here to renew my car insurance," I replied. "With everything going on, it seems negligent to let it lapse. You're here. Can't you do it?"

There were about three others in the office and I became the source of much amusement: expat English woman struggles against all odds to renew Solidarity insurance.

"We're going to use you in our next advertising campaign," chuckles one.

I'm about to leave when we hear the roar of sirens and look out to see about 20 police vans screech onto the highway below to block a band of about 200 protesters who are rushing towards them. Tear gas is fired; sound bombs explode.

"Tea?" asks the man in the thobe.

After about half an hour, the police pushed back the protesters and I left to pick up the kids from school. We reached home without incident.

School is closed today. British Embassy advice is to stay indoors. I had no food in the house so went to the local supermarket this morning and it was packed. Milk, butter and potatoes were in short supply. Clearly deliveries had been affected and people were bulk buying. Some expats are leaving; others, like my Northern Irish friend, seem totally unaffected. "I was reared during the Troubles," says she. "It'll take more than a few protesters to frighten me."

As I write I am receiving reports that the Bahrain/Saudi causeway has been temporarily closed to allow a security force convoy across the water: the Bahrain government has asked for Saudi help in containing the protests.

The protesters have vowed not to give up until they have full democracy and a new government. But a large proportion of the population here supports the King and his ministers. So we watch and we wait.

And at least my car is insured.

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."