Breathing In Soup

"How hot is it out there?"

It's a basic question, I know. You'd think there would be a simple answer. But, I find myself having to extend the answer so that they fully grasp my meaning of "hot."

It's hot out here. It's June and the temperature is usually in the 40's. Often nudging 50. But, that still doesnt explain it to the uninitiated. The heat here bares little relation to the heat on the Costa del Beer. There's a phrase in this part of the world that is commonly used but is never fully understood until experienced;
"It's the humidity that gets you."

It's like breathing in soup. Imagine climbing into a microwave on high. Wrapping your face in an electric blanket. There's is no escape in the shade, either. It makes little difference to the condition of your lungs. In the direct sunlight, you will burn in a matter of seconds, but that really pales into insignificance when you feel like you are currently breathing your last gasp on this planet.

I remember when I first arrived in Abu Dhabi. Fresh off the plane, through the airport terminal with its dramatic ceiling and bustling crowds. I had my passport stamped, collected my luggage and headed through customs. Wide-eyed and eager to see this land, I met the hotel employee that was there to greet me and take me to my new home. We spoke briefly about the fact that the A4 notice he had been holding aloft to identify himself to me, bore little resemblance to the actual spelling of my name.
Then we turned and headed to the glass doors, where his minivan awaited us. The glass door slid open and I took my first gasp. It was midnight. It was August. I nearly cried.
You know that scene at the beginning of Total Recall, where Arnie dreams he is suffocating on Mars after breaking the glass on his helmet?
I quickly jumped into the van, thinking that it must be a freak night in Abu Dhabi. The next morning, I decided to walk the streets, look at my new home and find some exciting places to hang out in the future.
My walk lasted around 35 seconds until I staggered through the nearest shop doorway, clutching my throat, sweat dripping from every pore and trying to work out how quickly I could get back to my room.
How can you spot a Westerner who lives in the Middle East? They are paler than normal. Going outside during the summer just aint what it's cracked up to be.