Coming home is not the same thing as Homecoming

So like, every time I used to land in Dubai, it used to feel like I was coming home. Even standing in that god-awful line with all dem smellys didn't bother me as much because I would grin at the immigration burkha and tell her I was a resident quite proud that I was not going to be another candidate she calls for her compatriot dishdash to haul off by the scruff of their neck to have their papers examined in another room. No, not me, I would be asked where I was coming from, a look would be glanced off my face and my passport would be stamped. In some completely random spot, mind you. I don't know why immigration people never stamp chronologically in order of pages. Would be so much easier to find that one date when you transited through Germany.

But I didn't transit through Germany. I went through Heathrow. And no, it wasn't Terminal 5 so don't get too excited. I think it might be on the trip back though.

So I was saying, that this time it didn't feel like I was coming home. Maybe it was because I had an awful flight with the bumpiness and the discomfort and the no sleeping and the babies screaming (I did take the seafood meal option which wasn't so bad). I didn't have to stand in line at all (mornings are the best time to land at DXB) and bag didn't get lost and Mum was there waiting doing that hunching shoulder thing and Pops was outside trying to hide in the trunk of the car (don't be alarmed - his car has a large trunk) and it was all very cute and nice. Which lasted about the time it takes to get out of the airport onto the main street. Then it began. They started telling me wot to do.

It hasn't quite ended yet. They're still doing it. Both of them. It's taking away the fun of homecoming. On the bright side they have already attacked my appearance, my weight, my marital status, my cooking, my sleeping habits, my clothes, my choice of profession, my lack of business sense, my frivolous spending habits and my general lack of civic duty towards them and their impending penury and uncertain housing situation. There isn't much left. The next few days should be smooth sailing in comparison.

So then we went to Irani hospital to file papers and give blud to get a new health card and then today we went to pick up the blud report (no communicable diseases, thank Allah!) and to the immigration office to get typing done and get a new residence visa all of which took about 23 minutes in total activity time. And yes, they do give you the visa the same day. And now did you know, one doesn't have to make the bi-annual pilgrimage back to 311. One can simply, not go. One's father will have to pay an AED 120 fine and get a letter saying you couldn't come when you do go but you will feel less guilty about it now that you can spot him the bucks and more importantly, because you have realized that coming home isn't the same thing as homecoming.

Oh, and I did get an eGate card so now I don't have to stand in line with the smellys anymore. I can breeze on through with a thumb and a wave.

There are 7 days to the US Embassy appointment. I suppose I could always go somewhere. Where is good for a 7 day trip?