Air Conditioning

Without air conditioning, you couldn’t survive here – although those Bedu tribes of yore managed reasonably well. When you walk along the street, you see these old oil tins with string leading from them to the AC above. As you pass, you often get a few drips of water splashing you. The tins are there to pick up the water extracted by the AC from the air within. Surely someone out there can think of a more elegant solution?

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Have finished reading a book called Travels with a Tangerine by Tim Mackintosh-Smith, in which the author follows the wanderings of the medieval explorer Ibn Battutah, the Marco Polo of the Arab world (and many would say a far more intrepid traveller). The book is a bit precious, but in its over-written way, it occasionally hits the spot. He’s talking here about Muscat, the capital of Oman, but the description brings a tingle of recognition.

“A process of architectural homogenisation is going on. Villas sprout vestigial crenellations, machicolated air-conditioner surrounds and castellated plastic water tanks….When it comes to road beautification, however, the designers’ imagination runs free. Vast incense burners jostle for attention on roundabouts with outsize coffee-pots and rosewater sprinklers; fibre glass oryxes, Bambis and merry-go-round horses prance over verges; pirate chest brim with hoards of fake treasure, and giant oyster gape, disclosing nonesuch plastic pearls.”

Best of the lot is a circle of concrete palms, surrounded by acres and acres of the real thing. Clearly a metaphysical statement, or the Middle East as theme park, TMS says. He doesn’t seem to have heard of the ski slope of D*bai.