Same, same but different

Even though Abu Dhabi and Toronto are connected by a direct, non-stop flight, little is known about each city, no matter which way you travel – and that travelling takes a good 12 hours, and it’s over Greenland. So while mutual cultural understanding may be lost over the Arctic ice caps, it is amusing to answer the question, “How is it there?”

How does one describe Abu Dhabi in a sentence? Especially since the geography of the city takes up the first minute. Its vicinity to Dubai helps, but that only piles on the stereotypes.

It is softer, I found myself saying. Not quainter or quieter but softer. That didn’t answer questions such as, “Do people walk the streets in the height of summer? Do you? Are you allowed to?”

So I borrowed one of my favourite expressions from the streets of Abu Dhabi to explain my expatriate life to friends and family in Toronto. Taxi drivers use it, shop keepers use it, and even my tailor – so why not me?

“Same, same but different,” I said, describing the similarities in lifestyle but the difference in basic culture.

From the difference in currency to how I greeted those around me, there’s been a perceptible shift, which is hard to explain because it is embedded in the eccentricities of daily life. In its simplest form, I had gone from hopping on the subway (politely standing in queue to get on) to hailing a taxi (trying to elbow my way through those who stole an approaching vehicle) every day to get to work.

The past year in Abu Dhabi did occasionally make me homesick for Toronto. I missed the changing of the seasons, organic bazaars and the downtown culture – from the art galleries and impromptu musicians on street corners to eateries. I missed multiple public transport options: streetcar, bus or subway?

I also missed the Canadian Rockies and cottage country. The lushness of Canada and its lakes brought home the point when I was a bridesmaid at my friend’s wedding, which took place in a tent in the heart of cottage country in Long Sault, a town bordering the provinces of Quebec and Ontario. The maple leaves were already turning brilliant hues of yellow and red and nightfall brought a chill in the air that warned of winter. The wedding dinner menu consisted of seasonal and locally grown produce and the biscotti, placed beside each plate, had been baked by her neighbour – things that can’t be recreated in the Middle East, not even with fake snow and an indoor dome.

When I decided to move to the Middle East, I knew there were compromises to be made. I was going to miss watching my nephews grow up and being part of my friends’ lives, but as the bride and I sat exchanging notes about our lives in the past few months, she said that this was a small price I paid for adventure – of discovering life in another culture. Indeed.