Yesterday, we finally made our way down to Qanat Al Qasbah.
Qanat Al Qasbah is the Emirate's latest entertainment, dining and leisure offering . It's a twenty-minute walk away from our apartment and Azim initially wanted to be a real beaver and enjoy nature by taking a long stroll there but I firmly objected, as tempting as it may sound. So we drove. No self-respecting Prada-shoed girl would willingly walk that far for any other reason (except shopping), even though the weather was at a fabulous twenty degrees. These boots are made for walking, not these Prada kitten-heel mules.
Because most of the shops were still not open yet and only a handful of restaurants were up and running, the place was pleasantly peaceful, with families, couples and friends scattered sporadically throughout the place. A couple of small kids rollerbladed, mildly causing me to develop a small phobia of small children on wheels. Mothers strolled with empty prams as fathers scampered after overexcited toddlers (who collectively seemed to insist on climbing over the railing to look at the passing boats, instead of merely looking through the railing's well-spaced bars!). A few business-types in stern gray suits were trying to look important and interested as they discussed next year's overall budget earnestly at a tiny corner cafe. One of them looked like he would rather replace his stiff suit with a stiff drink. The rest looked near-ready to bonk themselves.
Couples giggled and twinkled their way over the bridge, over candlelit dinners and over post-dinner drinks. Azim and I, heady with the calm beauty of the Qanat, walked by the few restaurants, undecided with where to park our fannies and feast in peace. We went over the bridge twice. Everywhere seemed like an option. Even under the Eye of the Emirates (which is the huge permanant ferris wheel in the picture below.)
We finally settled on a place called Cafe 1.168 and had a nice quiet dinner together. Well, not so quiet actually, as we had a little debate going on with each other over whether it is necessary for our kids to be educated overseas or in Singapore with me being in favour of the tried and tested (and increasingly challenging) MOE syllabus. We did not even care to gently remind ourselves that in order for our kids to be educated at all, we had to have kids first. Heh. All in good time, my dear. All in good time.
After which we finally caught Harry Potter and The Goblet Of Fire. Yes, we are that slow. Dubai did not start screening the movie until after Christmas, for reasons we will never (and don't have to) know. And that one time Azim and I were in Singapore together a few weeks ago, we missed the show by a whole hour and sent ourselves out of the theatre, duly ashamed of our ridiculous tardiness.
Well, the movie was almost everything I expected it to be even though some bits of the book were omitted from the screenplay. I was a tad disappointed with that. Methinks perhaps the director got a bit lazy and scrimped on some details. No matter. It was a spectacular Harry Potter installment, nonetheless. I kept shifting in my seat in excitement, as each scene brings new corners of the Hogwarts castle to sight and each character I have ever read about gets a real face. Azim, though clearly exasperated, tolerated the ulat-bulu beside him and remained fixated on the screen, even though I poked him in the arm a few times when my favourite DeathEater appeared. He did not care for that. He thinks the Malfoys (yes they are my favourites!) look like Legolas on bong. My point exactly, my love. Legolas is my be-all-and-end-all of the Middle Earth, after all.
By movie's end, I managed to generate a few pointless opinions I'd like to state for the record. Like the fact that Madame Olympe Maxime, the Headmistress of Beauxbatons, looked uncannily like Anna Wintour, the editor of US Vogue.
Like the fact that hot Viktor Krum looked uncannily like my friend Fazli, Shahnaz's cousin.
Like the fact that Igor Karkaroff the Headmaster of Drumstrang looked uncannily like Tariq, one of my Lebanese senior stewards without the beard.
(Same goes for Tariq. Has the temper of a thirsty camel. Scares the bejeezus out of me.)
And the fact that if you look closely, Fred and George Weasley somehow do NOT look identical anymore in this Harry Potter movie. And the fact that Dumbledore's beard could be bushier, it looked a little scraggly to me. And the fact that if they could, by now, have Chinese (Cho Chang), Indians (Padma and Parvati Patil) and various forms of Mat-Sallehs in Hogwarts, they should also have Malays. And Raihan finally got chance, no? Oh well, at the rate I'm going, I'll probably be cast as a Thestral or something. Heh.
And so it ends, our last dinner-and-movie date of the year, as we step a day closer to the new one.
For as both the clock hands meet at twelve on the 31st in Dubai, we will both be apart for awhile as I will be in Manchester, still stuck in 2005, still counting down four more hours, still lost in time. Whereas Azim would have already taken a breath of Two Thousand Six, eight hours ago. We have made strict and solemn promises to call each other as soon as we hit our respective midnight mark.
And let the countdown begin.........early.
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