We don't read Arabic

I know I should be ashamed to say this - but despite living here for 20 years I don't read, write or speak Arabic. I have the few odd words here and there. Not that it makes it better, but I am not the only one.

And I wish the likes of Google, Facebook et al trying to curry favours with the region would realise that a very large percentage of people living in the UAE are in the same boat as me. You would think they research these things but its mind boggling how these things work.

Just a simple think. I downloaded TweetDeck to keep me update in real time on Twitter as well as Facebook but you need to ensure that you are logged in. Since everything was in English, I clicked on log in so I could be updated on Facebook but the log in form was in Arabic with no option to switch to English. I tried guessing and in the end had to ask my Arabic colleague to help me out.

Please Facebook, Google, Microsoft all you big wigs, if you want to be smart and recognise that I live in the Middle East by coming up in Arabic because I live here, at least put a small link to switch to English for us simple cretins with no Arabic.

Fake Plastic Souks: Obama's First UN Boycott

I found this fascinating quote today:

63. We are concerned about the plight of the Palestinian people under foreign occupation. We recognize the inalienable right of the Palestinian people to self-determination and to the establishment of an independent State and we recognize the right to security for all States in the region, including Israel, and call upon all States to support the peace process and bring it to an early conclusion;Fake Plastic Souks: Obama's First UN Boycott, Apr 2009

You should read the whole article.

What do I remember

A few days after the event – it’s a bit difficult to remember all the details. They keep coming back to me in bits and pieces. Suffice it to say I am still dreaming of the knock on the door at 6am with tea and getting ready for 6-8 hours of walking – very slowly; up hills and down dales.

I remember the vertical climbs that seem to go on forever.

I remember laughing every night even though I was bone-weary most of the time.

I remember Rajinder holding my hand and coaxing me up the steep trail to Namche Bazaar (the first of two very, very hard days)

I remember playing all sorts of cheeky Nepali card games.

I remember donating my map as a birthday present at Thukla (Dhukla).

I remember tears in Labouche because I would not be making the last bit to EBC the next day because it would be too long by others standards and too dangerous for my slow walking.

I remember being teased about my snoring.

I remember the taste of fresh Pak Choi, stir fried at the tea houses.

I remember squabbling with Rajinder to get my Diamox at Phakding.

I remember taking a walk to look at the fields and birds at Dingboche (4400 mts approx depending on where you are) and then using photoshop at its sole cyber café!

I remember the most wonderful hot shower followed by a delightful Nepali dhal bhat at Pangboche that wiped all the dust, weariness and disappointment from my soul.

I remember being so stuffed up at Khumjung that I finished the Dan Brown – boring as it was.

I remember the gorgeous mountains – though I can’t remember all the names except Ama Dablam that dominated our way up to EBC and back!

I remember the party at Mon Jho – with home made hot toddies that involved Everest Whiskey.

I remember Sharkie and Gombhu carrying my water pack and offering me a drink of water every ten mins.

I remember lemon tea returning circulation to my cold, numb hands