Summer has arrived in Abu Dhabi. As I have mentioned, this is a region of the world where autumn is about one month (November), winter is about two (December and January) and spring is about two more (February and March).

The rest? Summer. Just varieties of summer. The unpleasant bits, the really unpleasant bits and the “could kill you” stretch. April and October are the unpleasant bits. May is the really unpleasant bit and June through September are the “could kill you” stretch … though late May and early October can jump in there, too.

Check the average highs and lows, per month, if you want to give thanks for where you happen to live. (The useful numbers are one screen down, on the home page.) For fun, compare to Palm Springs, which can “hang” with Abu Dhabi for several months, but with the dual provisos of “dry heat” and “big drop at night.” We typically have wet heat here, because we’re right on the water, and get very little relief at night. Or look at one of the most infamous hotspots in the world, Death Valley, which is one of the few places with higher highs, at least for a few months.

So, not much is more alarming here, 6-7 months of the year … than to be sitting in your home … or your work … and the air conditioner quits.

Which is what happened to me, twice, on Thursday.

At first, sitting inside in a nice 78-80 degrees, the AC shuts down and you think,”Well, no big deal. People lived here before AC. And the cool should last for a while.”

Well …

1. Actually, people didn’t really live in Abu Dhabi in the summers, pre-AC. The Bedouin summered at oases inland, such as at Al Ain, which has some altitude and ground water. They spent winters in Abu Dhabi.

2. Any space warms up in a big hurry. Like, microwave fast. Especially if it is a small space, such as the Teeny Apartment. Five minutes in, you notice it. Ten minutes in, it’s 95 degrees.

So, the AC in the living room conked out at about 3:30. Or just before I was going to hunt for Mr. Mohammed, our “super,” to tell him about the two power sources on the wall behind the main couch … that had gone dead the day before. Now, I really had need to get some help with this. Plus, it was pushing 4 on a Thursday afternoon … and Thursday actually is Friday here, remember. If this didn’t get fixed in the next few hours, it probably wouldn’t be fixed till … Saturday. I was sweating. Literally.

So, Mr Mohammed didn’t at first answer my knock on his door on the other side of the building. I pushed open the heavy door, and he was just coming out, putting on his shirt. I said “No AC. Come please!” And he sent instead his little apprentice, which is fine, because the young guy seems to be handier than Mr. Mohammed.

He arrived with a tool that showed live current, and he began with the AC because, after all, we can live without a few plugs, but with no AC … we have issues.

He took apart the plug. He tested. He twisted wires. He flicked switches.

He lifted some panels off the false ceiling and peered around. He tugged on cables. Clearly, we had a problem, and it wasn’t just me doing something dumb.

He went back for a ladder, and Mr. Mohammed came with him, to offer suggestions. To second-guess. The apprentice climbed on furniture. He tinkered. By now, I had brought our standing fan into the room, to at least move around some air. It was quite stuffy and hot, and getting moreso — though it was still cooler inside than out.

(Meantime, I moved five bottles of wine out of the living room and into the bedroom, where the other AC was still blowing. Didn’t want to ruin it with the heat, not did I want to scandalize them with alcohol sitting in plain sight.)

Finally, he got the AC up and immediately set it to 20 centigrade — or about 70 degrees. Ah. Nice.

It lasted a total of three minutes. And went dead.

I sighed. Shrank. And went back out into the blazing sun and 108-degree afternoon. I turned the corner, and the apprentice saw me and said, “Bad circuit-breaker. Sorry, Boss.” So, fixed today? “Yes.”

So, I spent a half-hour under the fan (the kitchen outlets still worked), and did a blog item … then retreated into the bedroom, which was still blowing cold air. But after a nap, the bedroom AC went off, too. An ominous click and the sound of silence. Within five minutes, I noticed the difference. Every bit of electricity in the flat was off. Including the fridge. I was frying in the dark.

At this point, I didn’t panic, but I was weighing all the numerous downsides here.

1. How long did I have before the freezer ice melted, the frozen stuff thawed and the fridge was at room-temperature, meaning all of it would be dangerous to eat? And the fridge had a bounty of food from the Wednesday expedition to Lulu’s.

2. How long could I take it in there before I began to overheat … dehydrate … hallucinate .. pass out? The air seemed to be getting thicker as well as hotter by the minute.

I wandered outside, and I found a guy messing with a circuit board inside an alcove. We exchanged a few basic words. He was working on it. The circuit breaker, apparently. Putting in new equipment. I went back and waited a few more minutes. I wasn’t leaving yet because I wanted to see how long the power was out … to gauge the food situation. Would I have to throw it all out? But then it got just really unpleasant. I was sweating as I sat. I went back to the circuit box, and the apprentice was there. “Sorry boss,” he said again. He was holding a flashlight for the electrician. I said, “How much time?” He said, “half-hour maybe.”

So, with nothing else to do … I decided to walk up the street. I could get a haircut, at least, in an room with AC. An hour later I was back … and I knew we had some power because I could see the drapes moving — because of the fan.

The living room AC … on! The fan, on! The lights, on!

But the AC in the bedroom? Off!

Geez. I now was on the flip side of where I had been earlier. Living room AC works; bedroom does not. Would we be able to sleep in that room with an overnight low of 85? My mind was turning. I went looking for Mr. Mohammed. Nowhere to be found. Apprentice? Also missing.

Leah came home. We begun to consider trying to sleep in the living room. I went out for one last look for Mr. Mohammed.

I found him, at about 10, in the alcove with the electrical boxes. He was looking at them. I said, “Hello, Mr Mohammed!” And I told him that the bedroom AC was out. He seemed perplexed and frustrated. As I was. He shrugged his shoulders. “Tomorrow,” he said. And since tomorrow was Friday, I wasn’t sure that would happen. “Tomorrow,” I asked? “Tomorrow.” It’s AC, and AC gets fixed even on the holy day. But it would mean one really miserable night.

Almost as a matter of habit, he took one last look at the electrical boxes. He went over to the circuitry box, and opened the door. Of the 16 switches in there, one was in the off position. He reached up and flipped it. I said, “I’ll go look.” I was more worried he would have knocked out the other stuff than actually have corrected anything.

I got in the door and Leah said, “I heard a beep.” And our ACs make a beep when they come on. I rounded the corner, and cold air was pouring out of the bedroom AC.

Mr. Mohammed had followed me into our teeny patio. I went out the door and made a thumbs up sign and said, “AC good.” And he was relieved more than happy. As was I.

Since, everything has been running well. Even the two dead outlets are back. And we could sleep without sweating.

But it was a harrowing day off. One dominated for six hours by issues of air conditioning. Absolutely dominated.

And it struck me how tentative life is here, and how utterly miserable it would be if the power goes out or our local machines break. How we live in a completely unnatural and unwelcoming environment, and how none of us would be here if not for all the oil offshore. Indeed, in a few of the northern Emirates, power in summer is likely to go out. I now can imagine how truly awful that must be. Too hot to sleep, too hot too move … a health hazard, pure and simple.

So, we’re close to nature here. Too close. One breakdown away from being immersed in it. And that would not be a good thing. Not at all, during the six months of summer.