City of Love

During the down time in Dubai we went to the Derei City Centre, a shopping place (actually, the entire city of Dubai is basically a shopping place), though we mainly went there to try out the metro and get some lunch.  We took some photos of weird stuff, but I'll get around to posting those later.  As you enter the mall the door has the usual "None of This Stuff" signs to warn you against inappropriate behavior.  You must not wear inappropriate clothing, which includes T-shirts with unacceptable messages.  You must not be shoeless.  You must not engage in "dangerous behavior."  Finally, you are told in no uncertain terms that "kissing or other public displays of affection are not allowed."  So that pretty much scotched our plans for the mall.  Buzz killers.

The Seattle airport is now known to us for a mishap.  As we came out of the ramp from the plane, I decided it was a good idea to make a pit stop.  So off I went.  While to my mind there was nothing unusual about the detour, neither in terms of type or duration of activity, apparently Jody thought otherwise.  When I came out she was nowhere to be seen.  So I figured, OK, she's made a pit stop of her own.  Knowing that trips to the ladies' room invariably take longer than those to the men's room - obviously, there's something far more entertaining to do in there, perhaps PacMan arcade games, or Sports Center is on, or something along those lines that is lacking in the male facilities - so I waited.  And waited.  After about 15 minutes, I started thinking, this is a bit longer than normal.  So I wandered around the small terminal to see if she might have wandered off to get a coffee or something.  After about the sixth time around the terminal and lurking around the entrance to the ladies' room, and with the growing unmistakable certainty that everyone in the terminal figured I was a stalker, which really wasn't fair based on this experience alone, and there's no way most of those people could have known the other relevant information that would have led to that conclusion, I thought to myself, it's been half an hour; perhaps she went to the baggage claim.  So I took the escalator down to the area marked baggage claim - and came upon the doors to the airport train.  There's no way she would have taken a train to another terminal, I thought; I've simply missed her.  So I went back upstairs, loitered around the entrance to the women's restroom until even the undecideds had decided that, yep, no doubt the guy's getting ready to commit some sort of sex crime, circled the terminal area a few more times.  By now over 45 minutes had passed since we landed.  So I thought, I'll go page her.  Turns out the place to page somebody is where the baggage claim area is.  So I took the train, and at the baggage help desk, I saw our suitcases.  Turns out she had long since given up finding me and so went fairly expeditiously to baggage claim.  Apparently, she is far less willing than I to be considered an airport bathroom predator.