Toyota Yaris Drivers' Club

What it thinks it is

I have joined the masses who pound the E11 highway twice a day between Dubai and Abu Dhabi. Taking advice from this blog, friends and family, I'm now renting a car so that the Goatmobile doesn't collect too many excessive kilometres. The best deal I found was through Hertz, for unlimited kilometres. Cheaper deals generally involved limited annual mileage (am I allowed to call it 'mileage' when only the US and UK measure road distances in those units?) that would jack the total cost beyond what I'm willing to pay.

So like most of the other UAE rent boys, I'm piloting a Yaris. It always happens: you acquire a new vehicle and then notice everyone else has one too. There are dozens of Yarii - or possibly Yares - on Sheikh Zayed Road every day. Mine came new-ish with about 1000km on it, and I'm sticking the thick end of 1600km on it every week, so of course it needs gassing up virtually every day. Ah, the dubious delights of minuscule fuel tanks. Good gas mileage though: around 7 litres/100km whilst thrashing along at an overall average door-to-door speed of above 100kph.

To my surprise, I'm actually quite enjoying driving the car. I estimate that I'll get a new one in six months or so, before my colossal kilometres makes the Yaris impossible for Hertz to sell at a reasonable price.

It wasn't worth an extra Dh1000 a month just for cruise control, so I've had to re-learn holding the throttle at a constant opening for an hour at a time. I have been surprised at how well the 1300cc engine and auto box perform once the vehicle is wound up to over 100kph. For the first couple of days I used Clarissa the GPS to calibrate the Yaris' speedo. Now I know precisely how fast I can go without triggering the legions of speed cameras. This is of course not nearly fast enough to avoid being flashed out of the fast lane by the pilots of 160kph (and the rest) missiles.

The Yaris is apparently rated at five stars for crash safety, which is some comfort for someone who's used to being surrounded by a couple of tonnes of Goatmobile. Not that I'm planning on testing this claim any time soon.

Parking in Abu Dhabi is unbelievable. The only way I've found to get a space is to leave Dubai before the crack of sparrow-fart. Still learning the route options, I have resolved never, ever again to use the Eastern Ring Road. Wednesday last week it added nearly an hour to the journey for the same distance, which inevitably meant that by the time I'd arrived all parking spaces, aisles and footways were already full of parked cars.

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Do you love the commute? Err...

The Goatmobile costs around Dh1.50 per kilometre to run. That includes everything spent to date, but does not allow for any money back when it’s traded in. It is assumed that there’ll be little if any residual value once I’ve finished abusing the vehicle on and off road. Perhaps I can get the odometer right around the clock and then sell it as low mileage but a bit tatty for 2004. More than a million kilometres. One careful caprine owner.

Perhaps the equivalent of a return trip to the Moon is starting to look faintly possible. As regular readers of this little corner of cyberspace will doubtless be aware, Muggins was made redundant a week or so ago, five days after bending over backwards to return from the UK, dodging airborne ash particles and generally cashing in favours with friends and family.

The boot up my jacksie happened on Thursday 29th April. I went into the office the following week to clear my desk, return the company laptop, deal with outstanding issues and leave my former boss with the world’s most comprehensive handover notes. So comprehensive were they that he did not find it necessary to ask any questions at all.

Later that same Thursday, one of my colleagues tried to give me some work to do and I apologised that as I no longer worked for the Firm, he would have to find one of the few remaining engineers to deal with his technical queries. The long story short is that my colleague passed my name and phone number to an employment agency on Thursday, the agent phoned me on Friday, I sent him my latest CV on Saturday, and on Wednesday 5th May I had an interview that was immediately followed by a job offer. I started the new job on Sunday 9th May, five working days after being told Sayonara, habibi.

Having been removed from the old sausage machine, this particular cog is now part of a different machine.

This proves that I have marketable skills; that there is demand for what I do. Unfortunately, my previous employer has clients who appear not to want those skills. More specifically, they want them but are unwilling to pay for them.

A further discussion of the new job brings me back to the subject of driving. I now work in Abu Dhabi, and am thus the latest applicant for the post of Driver who Incurs 1500km per Week at his Own Expense. Running the arithmetic reveals that renting a car and thrashing that into the ground would be marginally cheaper than running the Goatmobile, and there would be no inconvenience every seven weeks of getting the vehicle serviced. My motorbike would chew through a back tyre in typically one month because almost the entire journey is bolt upright on a motorway, and it would need to be serviced at the same time. Big bikes need a lot of servicing. However, a rented car would be a Yaris, Tiida or similar. Ugh. I’m on the horns of a trilemma. Bike; rented Yaris; Goatmobile.

Plus there are the added delights of navigating around the capital to find the elusive parking space. Roadworks on Salam Street are confusing and disruptive to bucolic yokels such as I: yesterday I was completely flummoxed and was unable to find my way out of the city via the new Yas Island highway. Twenty minutes after setting sail for home I was still within spitting distance of the office. This situation will, however, improve as I learn my way around Abu Dhabi.

Beloved Wife has agreed in principle that we should move house to somewhere closer to Abu Dhabi than the Crumbling Villa, yet within a sensible commute to her Dubai job. Assuming, of course, that we can find somewhere at a reasonable rent that is large enough for all our stuff.

Finally, as for EoD and Alexander’s suggestion of commiseratory or even celebratory drinkies, I should be at Dubai’s Oirish Village on Friday night after eightish. Dead easy to identify: I’m the one with the beard. And the horns. All welcome. RSVP in the comments.

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It's that time of year

I'm not sure if it's Luke Skywalker Day, Jedi Day, or Star Wars Day.

But have a happy one.

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May Day m'aidez!

The plan was to live relatively modestly, build up some savings, and then retire in about 2018 to 2020 to the dream house in Cyprus. The best-laid plans of goats and men, together with a load of half-baked fantasy ideas, are now thrown into disarray following an unexpected meeting in the boss’ office on Thursday afternoon.

The Goat has been in continuous employment since January 1986. He spent three years in Guildfordshire, seven years in t’English midlands where he survived a major company buy-out, and then in 1996 he jumped on to an aircraft. Six years in Qatar and nearly eight more in the Emirates. That’s a total of just over 24 years working in the construction industry and only four different employers. Three, if working in the English midlands and in Qatar are recognised as being for the same company. This is a level of company loyalty that might be considered rare in this day and age. The Goat must presumably have been doing something right.

What happened last Thursday?

Owing to the global downturn, UAE governments cancelling any and all projects at a whim, and bills not being paid, the Goat’s job is now redundant. Rather urinating on the Goat’s pyrotechnics, this is the third wielding of the scythe across the office. It is for the Goat a new and not altogether pleasant experience, and follows a statement from the CEO that the company had cut deep and hard, was now out of the woods, and sought to start building business up again.

Unfortunately, it appears that the engineering company wishes to eliminate engineering and technical staff and build up numbers with accountants. Not that the Goat has anything against accountants, who deserve a career as much as everyone else. But the company seems to be viewed from the stratospheric heights of the executive office as some kind of sausage machine. Payroll is dropped into the top, someone winds a handle, and fee income comes out. There are also by-products that are emitted somewhere out the back. These are engineering designs for roads, bridges, tunnels, sewers, buildings, marinas, but these by-products simply happen automatically. It appears that the really important stuff is comparing what goes in the top with forecasts of what is coming out of the front, and the accounts executives can spend their days gleefully comparing financial forecasts.

A practical experiment is also under way: How may parts of the sausage machine can be removed whilst allowing it to continue to function?

Yes, the Goat does realise that salaries and rent are paid for with money, not engineering designs. He also notes what a design consultant actually produces, and wishes that the people who asked for this stuff would now pay for it.

Evidently, the Goat is currently feeling rather bitter, twisted and worthless. He was concerned that a late return to work last week would result in a termination of employment, but has been assured that his unexpected extra week in the UK had nothing to do with the redundancy decision. However, the ultimate effect remains much the same. Redundancy payment is a month’s salary plus what the Ministry of Labour decrees is the level of End of Service benefit. Not a lot, then.

Job seeking will commence in earnest early next week with an up-to-date curriculum vitae. Preference is for the Goat to remain in the same country as his Beloved Wife, but que sera sera. There are presumably other options.

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Hephaestus

Ήφαιστος, the Greek god of fire, volcanoes and technology, is having fun at an awful lot of people's expense. Trying to get back to the Lands of the Sand is proving to be an exercise in frustration. Why? Well, apart from UK airports being closed, airlines aren't answering their phones. Too busy with their inflatable dartboards, perhaps. More likely busily selling seats to new passengers instead of putting existing customers whose flights were cancelled on them.

Of course I realise the problem, and also how even once the ash cloud eventually disperses there will be thousands of aircraft in the wrong place and getting back to normal will take weeks or months.

I've been examining other options. How about travel to a less-affected airport, such as Rome, Barcelona, Madrid, Athens or Istanbul? An InterRail international train ticket would set me back the order of £500, and this assumes that I'd be able to get a seat on a train anyway.

So I checked Hertz car rental. Seemingly, there are numerous foreign-registered cars in various locations in the UK that resulted from one-way car hire. The website says to Ring this number and...etc, etc... So I did, and got a recorded message to the effect that no-one can be arsed to answer the phone. Checking with Hertz's main number, I learned that a one-way hire to Rome would set me back £1200 - that's over AED6000 - in addition to the normal hire charges, ferry or Channel Tunnel fares, fuel and hotels. And this is to do Hertz a favour by returning one of their vehicles to its country of origin. In keeping with Hertz's apparent policy of extracting micturation, I was charged over £50 per day for the additional two days I had the Group 1 billy-basic car, and yes I did inform them in advance. The vehicle is now back at Gatwick where it can gather dust and ash.

So I've concluded that the only realistic option is to wait it out in Blighty. Checking the Met Office map, if everything went even more pear-shaped I'd be in a foreign country where I don't speak the language (Italy, Spain, Greece, Turkey) and stuck at an airport just as the ash cloud parked itself directly overhead. See how close the cloud currently is to Istanbul and Rome.

I can't even work remotely. None of my employer's UK offices are anywhere nearby, and I object to adding to my frustration by living in a hotel in order to work. Not that I'd be able to function without my computer, books and files. It will come as no surprise to learn that I did not take my office computer with me on holiday. Consequently even working from 'home' fails to be an option.

Looks like I'll simply have to have a holiday, punctuated by frequent reference to the news websites and - joy and delight - listening to Qatar Airways' telephone tree.

Edited 23 April to add:

The skies were reopened to traffic on Wednesday 21st April, and I eventually got through to Qatar Airways to book on to Thursday's flight. Amazingly, there were scores of empty seats on the aircraft. I'm relieved to be back.

And I even have five days of annual leave remaining.

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Goat versus the Volcano

Stuck in the UK for the foreseeable future, here goes with something to let my regular readers know that I haven't actually dropped off the planet.

Since the Eyjafjallajoekull volcano erupted last Wednesday, all flights in and out of UK airspace have ceased, and my return to the Lands of the Sand scheduled for Saturday has been delayed. I do not for one moment blame the airlines for this, nor the UK's Air Traffic Controllers; I was previously aware of the experience on board BA009 back in June 1982, when Captain Eric Moody ended up piloting a Boeing 747 glider.

It's a bit of a shame that when I tried to talk to my airline, Qatar Airways proved impossible to contact. This can only be the airline's fault: there isn't even a recorded message to say that there are no flights until Monday. Passengers, including members of the frequent non-flyers' club, get no info at all at any time of the day or night. I suspect that the phones have simply been left off the hook. None of the London numbers were answered, which is exactly what used to happen a few years ago when Qatar Airways required passengers to reconfirm 72 hours prior to flying. The international phone number gleaned off the airline's website went straight through to hold music. This is not useful when ringing Muscat from England, and is even less useful as a source of flight information.

Oh, and a website that says that there is no information, and for further information to log on to the website is right up there with inflatable dartboards and chocolate teapots.

I eventually managed to talk to someone in Doha, who told me that there were no QA flights out of Gatwick until Monday 19 April. I reconfirmed my seat for Monday, and put in a request that if there were any further cancellations or rescheduling, that I be contacted by phone or email.

You gotta laugh, haven't you?

Then to extend the car rental. The national help desk phone number's robot woman took all my details and then cut me off. Twice. Finally I got through on a different phone number to a nice Irish woman who dealt with extending the rental. She congratulated me for having a Hertz car on hire before amending the details.

So now I wait. Truth be told, there are worse places to wait for my flight than the Gnomads' house. The marble floor of Gatwick Airport's north terminal springs to mind. Truly a Pollyanna moment.

Another Pollyanna moment was amusingly provided by the BBC in a tragic case of non-joined-up thinking. I was watching the magic idiot-box chez Nanny Goat and learned that the total lack of air travel in the UK has apparently resulted in reduced CO₂ emissions of some 100,000 tonnes per day. So not flying is good for the environment. So what is pushing all that volcanic ash into the earth's atmosphere then? Polar bears' farts?

It is such a shame that this whole volcano thing is eating into my annual leave. Come September when I'm going nuts after a summer in Dubai, I'll not have enough leave remaining to go abroad, and this is not good.

Edited Sunday 18th April to add:

Qatar Airways' flight out of Gatwick tomorrow morning was cancelled. I rang the ticketing help line, only to be advised by a machine that all the UK employees are enjoying their weekend. The office in Doha advised that the next available seat is on the totally unacceptable Saturday 1st May. How...helpful.

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Donkeys and camels and goats. Oh my!

The Crumbling Villa is bursting at the seams. Instead of being populated by The Goat and his Beloved Wife, this week The Goat's howling herd has descended for some sunshine. Apparently it's cold, damp and snowing in Blighty, whereas here in the Lands of the Sand there is more sun that you can sheikh a stick at.

The two adults and their four kids are of course all having a riotous time, and The Goat has taken a week's leave of absence from his job. There was a plan to escape back to the office mid-week, but the savage itinerary set by the rellies who want to see everything and do it all doesn't allow this.

An outstanding and long-standing promise involving a large motorcycle and some nephews has been discharged. After The Goat borrowed a spare helmet, the ten-year-old rode pillion to Sandy Beach and the 13yo rode on the trip back. Yes, yes, Bad Goat... Everybody else went in the Goatmobile. Sandy Beach advertised its wares with a large sign in Reception warning potential punters that there were jellyfish in the sea. Following physical observation, 'a jellyfish' would perhaps have been nearer the mark. There were also sharks and barracuda, much to the delight of the young and not-so-young snorkellers.

We're all off to an aquarium to have a better look at some sharks today. Not Atlantis, though. Visiting Atlantis was limited to driving around the barrier reef and getting splashed by the enthusiastically rough sea. That'll learn Beloved Wife with her open-top car!

We all piled into two cars on another day and did part of the most recent Gulf News Fun Drive across the dunes. Clearly too easy because nobody got even slightly stuck, this trip was deemed a delight by the visitors. Of course, the Fossil Rock steep track was added to the itinerary, to the further delight of all. As well as picking through the dunes, the visitors busied themselves checking out the wildlife. No oryx; no gazelles. But plenty of the usual suspects.

Tomorrow we're off to ride the water flumes up at Dreamland in Umm Al Quwain. The Goat mentioned the availability of fizzy yellow beverage to his brother-in-law, but somehow forgot to note the delicate Low Tide aroma wafting in off the mud flats.

What else? Well Beloved Wife and Goat are packing the other 'dults off to a five star hotel for their wedding anniversary on Wednesday, and then spending the evening in loco parentis (you've gotta be mad to be a parent). Cinema followed by Burger King, we suspect. And there's also the obligatory trip to the gold souq. We've already been to Karama: "Copy watches, genuine fake handbag, etc."

The relatives have had such a wonderful time so far that they're already mumbling about visiting again.

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