The Local

Whether you are an ATCK or find yourself lost in the world of nomads, you find community. Sometimes that community is among the people from your host culture, and sometimes it is with other global nomads roaming the earth. But wherever you find community, they may all gather at “the local,” as Anna shares in her personal essay.

The local.

A word that conjures up ideas of cosiness, chats, connection, and laughter. Perhaps even a cold beverage in hand and a packet of dry-roasted peanuts, if it’s going really well.

Now, maybe somewhere like Abu Dhabi doesn’t necessarily seem like a place full of cosiness, but it really is, when you know where to go. I’m lucky enough to live 200m from my closest local. You can walk in any time of the day or night, be greeted with a warm welcome from the bar staff, your regular drink within about 30 seconds, and a couple of nods to other locals. The place is full of global nomads, with every single person in here from somewhere else. 50 degrees Celsius in the middle of July? You can still get cosy in this local, and we all help each other feel like we are ‘home’.

If I go over there today, my friend Nico might walk in. I don’t know if he will. He spends most of his time off shore, drilling for oil and gas on a platform in the middle of the Arabian Gulf. But, when the helicopter brings him to solid land, he usually drops in here first, plonks down on his chair, and breathes a sigh of relief. He’ll get back to the family in an hour or two, but first he needs to reconnect here. We’ll probably end up talking about movies, music, and travel, in English with a smattering of French while he teaches me some nugget about Arabic. His type of Algerian Arabic, naturellement. When he talks about Hemingway in a French/ Italian accent, it’s like European goals met and BOOM! Funny I’m in the heart of the Middle East while that happens…

If I’m super lucky, Keith might even drop in. He’ll have been driving from Dubai or Ras Al Khaimah, having been out managing a construction site. He might sit quietly for a while with his fish and chips, having not eaten all day. We usually chat about fairies and sausage rolls from Irish petrol stations. I get a decent dose of Irishness when I’m with Keith.

If it’s Wednesday, maybe some of my Wednesday crew will turn up. Generally a bunch of American contractors who work on a military base here, we used to have a different local back in the day. Almost a Stammtisch – just turn up on a Wednesday, and someone will be there from around 4 ish. But, since some of us moved around the city a wee bit, and that local kind of changed their happy hour offering, we’ve kind of quietened a bit. The lads always end up talking about grilling techniques. In fact, because they know how to grill (like, properly), they gave me my first experience of deep fried turkey at Thanksgiving at Kevin and Wan Mai’s house. It was goooooood.

I could go on and on. I could talk about Jallal, the Egyptian real estate agent who looks like Bradley Cooper. Sometimes, when my Moss is here on Fridays, we all practice riding air motorbikes. Mike, the Russian/ American graphic artist/ fire maker/ dude who sits in his place in the corner and zooms his dad. There’s the sweetest tiniest man from Jordan who always has a massive smile on his face. There’s Nora, a lady with stars tattooed behind her ear who always smells gorgeous. There’s the cute Irish couple who live around the corner. There’s Big George, who’s a local by default. As a pensioner he comes over every couple of months from Scotland to visit his grand-daughter. You’ll
catch him riding his mobility scooter up and down the Corniche if you have fast enough eyesight.

Then there are the people who don’t come anymore. We used to have Chris, the diving instructor from the UK, who basically never got paid, and Dan from Scotland, who was also an offshore worker. He ended up having to move to Dubai because his wife didn’t find Abu Dhabi fancy enough. People do tend to move on, here. It’s the way of things! We’re all missing Pedro, the Swiss guy who seemed to know everyone in the city.

But then, there are the people who come back. There’s this Palestinian/ Jordanian/ Canadian biker guy who returned after three years working in Dubai. He had no local up there, so he’s delighted to be back ‘home’. Then, you meet the odd randomer like Hamster, who just travels the world for a living. You get deep into a conversation, and then whooooosh, they’re gone.

It’s like our very own version of Cheers, in fairness. When my Moss comes in early on a Thursday, we’ll race from the airport to make it in for happy hour just before 8. Sure, the first time we met was in our first local in Abu Dhabi, a different bar where Ian introduced us. Moss had to ask if I was hiding a knife in my sock, considering I’m from Limerick. Lovely, that! Come to think of it, the first time I met Ian was at the bar of our local at that time. I heard an Irish accent talking about Ryanair, and that was it. He’s basically like family now. And Moss? Well sure, he is family now.

This local is an Irish bar. Typical, you might say, but the others weren’t (in my defence). This one actually looks and feels like a proper Irish bar rather than being totally over-adorned with shamrocks and signposts to Cork and Donegal, right in the middle of Abu Dhabi city. It’s a special place for us.

The security guy, Roy, acts like a message delivery point. Forgot your bag of groceries? Roy will have it. Forgot to pay? Someone else will pick up the tab and you’ll never owe them. Order too much food? Join in, have some of my sandwich. Bar staff member’s birthday? I’ll run over to the baqala and get a box of chocolates. They’re fantastic, themselves. Lives often spent living away from family who are in Nepal, India and the Philippines, perhaps not terribly well paid, but always cheerful and helpful and full of fun.

I think it sheds light on a version of Abu Dhabi that we don’t always hear about. Of course you can get your glitz and glamour; you really don’t have to look too far to find it. But as humans, we need connection more than glamour. This local gives me my cosiness, my chats, and my laughs with ‘the lads’, as we say. With zero pressure. We don’t make arrangements to see each other as such, and it usually takes a long time before we swap numbers. Here, you can just turn up, have a drink, and be. Oh, the chats. Don’t even get me started on arguments about melted cheese in a Tayto sandwich. Keith feels vindicated now that I showed him pictures of banners in Dublin advertising such a travesty.

Get caught up in some madness, or sit and write. Zoom your parents, or sit with your headphones and watch YouTube videos. Chat about the meaning of life, or where to get the best shawarma nearby. Or Pink Floyd (Nico), bartending and HR (Pedro), grilling and music (Wednesday crew), life, love, and madness (my Moss). Even better if it’s all at the same time.

The local.

*Most locals have read this piece, and given consent for its publication. They might read
it again once it’s published. Probably not though. We’ll have moved on by then. Some
names have been changed, where a) I couldn’t find the person, because we never
make arrangements and b) they requested same, if I found them. I cannot give the
name of the bar because it would be too close to home for some. But if you know what
a long, long time ago means, as Gaeilge, you’ll find it. I’ll see you there, some day!