I’m there, in the oasis. Still trying it on, seeing how it fits.

One foot out of the airport towards the taxi line-up, the air, so hot and humid, hits you instantly. Sweet sweat, that feels good. The arabic signage, the luxury vehicles cars are coming and going. We’re not in Kansasada anymore and I love it. The same kind of feeling I had when leaving the airport in Beijing back in January: all is exotic, you have no clue at all where you’re heading to, but you enjoy that uncertainty because you’re there and now part of it.

Speeding on the highway, the taxi driver keeps quiet. He’s polite and answers my questions but no more. His english is not that great. He’s Egyptian, has been working in Dubai for 6 years now and loves it. Not like the Pakistani driver I met the next day, who only gets to see his wife and kids a few times a year back in his home country.

Looking out the window, Dubai seems so un-sophisticatedly sprawled all over the place. Gawd, is all of this for real?

Good news dear and patient readers. We’re getting back into it again. The next 6 weeks will be out of town in places I’ve never been to, situations I’ve never experienced. And I must say I am quite excited.

I’m heading over first to the UAE to complete a design project I have been working non-stop-long-hours since June. Though construction in well underway, we have one more month to go before it’s a wrap. And its the hardest one. I expect much running around, much wishing there were more than 24h in a day. Probably a bit swearing too. Update: Apparently, swearing in public ins’t allowed (more than frowned upon), so, I’ll diligently refrain from doing so.

But hopefully, if that all goes as planned, well, come December and I’ll be skipping over by France for necessary some time-out with friends and family before coming back to Montreal.

Though Dubai will probably be quite un-vacations like, I’ll do my best to blog as rigorously as I was earlier this year while in China, posting photographs with semi-elaborate captions, giving enough context for you kids to follow.

Thumbs up for a non-flash website coming from a professional photographer. Thumbs down for the use of lightbox as an excuse to resolve a poor user interface.

A power failure had St-Urbain pitch dark last Saturday, with only headlights of passing cars mixed with a cop’s flashing blue and red lights illuminating the street.

While I’m at it, it was announced that Scott would direct a prequel to the Alien movie.

Anyways. It all went fine. 45 minutes top. I lied down in the chair, Pietro takes the syringe with the longest 6 inch needle, slowly numbing my inner upper lip while saying: “This is the hard part. After this, you just lie back, relax and let me do my work.” And so I did.

Fast forward a week. I went back yesterday to take out the stitches, Pietro walks in to check it all up. I pull back my lips and he whispers “Fuuuuck” fixating my open mouth. He pauses, my eyes are now, them too, wide open. I’m caught off guard, this never happens. Doctors don’t swear. I’m totally uncertain of what he’ll say next.

“That looks good. Really good. Seriously. Mind if I take some pictures?”

And so he did. Man do I love passionate people.

I tend to forget the clothing and simply check out the scenography (which, most of the time, isn’t all that different), but sometimes, you get fantastic setups: like the all barn Chanel show. Or my favorite: über-simple yet so effective, Viktor and Rolf’s runway shrinks the models into pretty little dolls while Roisin Murphy is sings on.

En tout cas, moi j’trouve.

This bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich won the “Best overall BLT” of Micheal Ruhlman’s BLT from scratch contest. Other categories included “Best BLT interpretation” and “most inspiring BLT”.

Photos prises une nuit d‘été, entre deux services au manoir tout près —on célébrait un mariage— le bruit sourd du grondement de l’eau qui tombait sous nos pieds nous avait appelés à cette promenade [obligatoire] sur le pont qui surplombe la chute Montmorency.

Voir de si près le torrent s’effondrer plusieurs dizaines de mètres plus bas, on ne peut que s‘émerveiller des détails de l’eau qui passe, de ces bouillons et de ces vagues qui heurtent sans cesse les mêmes roches, le même terrain, la même histoire. Le tout s’excite en continu, sans variations décelables. Plus ça passe, plus c’est pareil. Le courant est immobile.