I have tried for you: living in Oman. Chapter 2, part 1, The air-con diaries.

Muscat. On a school morning.

6:30. My alarm clock goes off. Scenario one, I have left the air conditioning on overnight. 

I wake up being cold, very cold. I grab  the AC remote control from under my pillow, switch the thing off and hop in the bathroom. In the rest of the flat, the air is thick, hot and moist, pretty much like in the jungle. I return to my room after the shower, it’s still chillier here than anywhere else in the flat, I shiver, get dressed and go grab some breakfast in the sauna (slash) kitchen. Sauna? Indeed, the door leading from the kitchen to the only bit of “outside” (the washing machine room, a room where the arabic-style window isn't covered by a glass pane) doesn’t close anymore... because of the heat. I break out into a sweat. Oh dear. It will only be the first of many times today.

***

6:30. My alarm clock goes off. Scenario two, I have switched the AC off overnight. I wake up being hot, very hot, and sweaty (Who said "glam"? Someone said "glam"?). I grab  the AC remote control from under my pillow, switch the thing to 23 degrees and hop in the bathroom. In the rest of the flat, the air is thick, hot and moist, pretty much like in the jungle (my switching off the AC overnight probably didn’t help here). I return to my room after my shower, it feels like a reasonable temperature now, I get dressed and go grab some breakfast in the freezer (slash) kitchen. Freezer? Indeed, the door leading to the only bit of “outside” doesn’t close anymore, so sometimes we leave the AC overnight in the kitchen – basically cooling down outside as well as inside (our own contribution to reduce global warming. Joke. Except not funny). At least I can’t feel the overwhelming signs of a sweat rising. This could be a good day.

***

7:00. I put a lunch box together. Any attempt at cooking induces rise in local temperature, which will induce sweat break in return. Limit cooking to a minimum. Good thing I like salads. 

Have a yogurt for breakfast. And a pint of ice cold water from the water dispenser. Make it two pints.

7:20. Bathroom: hands, face and teeth. Factor 15 on. Skip the makeup because, gosh, who has time for that? 

Lunch bag - check, gym bag - check, schoolbag - check. Sunnies - check, double check.

7:28. Grab multiple bags and keys, switch all lights off, turn various AC units and fans up, or down, on, or off. Depends in which room, you see.

7:30. Leave the flat. The building hall is a good 5/7 degrees warmer than the flat, and the smells of remnants of our neighbours’ dinners mixed together make me nauseous. I am starting to feel not so fresh already. I haven’t even been outside yet. 

I take the stairs – my only attempt to exercise in 24 hours some days. 4 floors later, I reach for the outside door, take a deep breath and swing it open. 

Here we go. The tumble-drier effect hits me (warm and humid puff of breeze very similar to the one that submerges the individual opening the tumble-drier at the end of its spinning cycle). 

Welcome, sweat attack number 2.

7:35. I walk 6 meters to my car, it is already 30 degrees under the scorching sun. I am wearing jeans and a long sleeve t-shirt. I can feel beads of sweat rolling down my neck, and behind my knees. 

I feel gorgeous.

Open car, drag handbag, gym bag, lunch bag inside. Sit down, leave door open. Put car key in contact and switch engine on. Oh dear.

The radio screams. The AC fans blow boiling hot air at full blast in my face – hair drier effect, added to ambient heat of 40++ degrees. Hello, sweat attack number 3. 

Why do I make the same stupid mistakes every day? Every evening I leave the AC button pushed in when I park the car, so obviously, every morning it is pushed in when I start the car.

I turn radio and fans down, put gym bag in the back, handbag on passenger seat, lunch bag on the floor of passenger seat (explanation next time). Fold windshield sunshade away and throw it at back of the car. (Yep, sunshade – I know Dad, I wasn’t brought up to use this but it turns out that without it, my steering wheel would be melting and my fingers and palms would be burnt all over). Fold both sun flaps (or whatever they're called) used to hold sunshade in place. 

Plug iPhone in radio. 

Now is the time to apply nail polish, as I will spend the next 10 minutes without having to touch anything but the car wheel - plus said car has built-in nail varnish drier (explanation next time), so I proceed. Close nail varnish bottle, throw in handbag (do not leave in car or will dry instantly. Proven fact, from experience). 

Strap security belt. Screw the nail varnish up. Reapply a coat of varnish. (Note to self: strap the belt before getting on with the nail varnish, not after).  

7:50. Fans have cooled down and are blowing cold air. Soothing music is playing. Feels heavenly. 

Except I probably smell.

Glad I didn’t apply makeup because by now, I’d look like a melted Barbie doll.

Morning, sunshine. You have yourselves a lovely day !