NO ONE, EVER:

“It’s my life’s dream to go visit Dubai”

And so begins my recollection of my trip to Dubai.

Admittedly, I had always been semi-curious about Dubai and the UAE. Every time these places trend on mainstream news outlets, it was always due to some new record breaking extravagance, like the World’s Tallest Building, or The World’s Most Gold-pimped Bar, or the World’s Largest Continuous Indoor Rug. (Side note: two out of three of those things are actually true, with the third one likely being true but discounted cos it’s absurd and definitely not a thing).

UAE and in particular, Dubai – seemed to engage in a perpetual game of Yeah But Mine’s Bigger with an occasional dabble in OMG It’s Not The Biggest Anymore, Quick Get To Work You Fools.  For the latter, see the Palm Jumeirah – apparently once it was found out that a Palm resort in the Caribbean was larger in size, the boys immediately went to build an even bigger one, almost right next door to the Jumeirah. Seriously, go check it out on a map, it’ll be on the right.

So, the United Arab Emirates is clearly quite wealthy, and they want you to know it. And, should your pockets be deep enough, it is luxurious, to the point of.. well, being pointless. I mean, do you really need 24 carat gold flakes on your coffee?

But beneath this shiny, glossy surface – behind the show of grandeur and opulence, there was surely a heart and a soul and an identity,  no?  Won’t this big, proud Arabic nation let its guard down just for a short while and show me its tender, soft underbelly? Can I get a hug please?  As I found, it’ll might you a hug, but it’ll be one of those awkward ones that you get from a  polite colleague where they’re attempting to make as little skin contact with you as possible and really, they just wanted to show you their new Rolex.

Now, I have to be very careful what I say here (and I am definitely not going to call anyone a horse..) / Despite my general inclination to judge and focus on the peculiar  things,  I liked Dubai a lot, and I thoroughly enjoyed my time there. Acclimatisation to relentlessly hot climates in the past few years definitely helped (it was an easy 33-36 degrees celsius most days), though as one Uber driver casually remarked, “this isn’t even hot yet, the summer is just beginning”.

I can also see why countless expats would move here, at least for a few years.  Up-root themselves temporarily and plonk themselves right in the middle of a lifestyle oasis where everything can be had (well, almost everything), life would treat you well, and where (presumably?) your pay cheque would be looking much more attractive than if you had stayed in London. Dubai could be a good life, I could see that.

But this loooong two-part blog isn’t solely about the UAE. It’s also about Oman, in particular Muscat and its surrounding areas.

The main reason why we had settled on this specific stretch of land on Earth was because it was almost equi-distant between Singapore and London (where Sian lives), and well,  Erica lives in New York, so everything was bloody far away for her.  Whilst Dubai was apparent in my mind (largely because whilst browsing flights on Skyscanner, Emirates Airlines always attempts to tempt me into buying their cheaper tickets to London via a blood-shot 3am transit in Dubai) it was Sian who suggested we double up and visit Muscat too, and a mighty fine decision that turned out to be. More on that, in the second part of this blog.

But alas, the lady doth blather on too much, at least before actually describing where I went, what I saw and obviously, posting a shedload* of photos.

*Profanities and expletives will be limited in this particular blog to minimise my culpability.

The first impressions 

Grand, shiny buildings. Elegant architecture. Clean streets and a scorching hot climate.  But enough about Singapore.

We were in Dubai. If you were to think of an urban example of what it means to be ‘extra’, you might think of this place. It holds over a hundred world records (usually beginning with synonyms for ‘biggest’), lies claim to the world’s only Seven Star hotel in the  Burj Al Arab (you’ll find your gold flaked coffee here, Your Majesty), and builds artificial palm-shaped islands for fun.

 

Superlatives are the norm here, anything else is for peasants.

Speaking of being peasants – whilst we would have loved to bask in all the excesses of the city,  we had no intention of shelling out a few thousand dollars to stay at the world famous Palm Jumeirah for a night, even if we could score a hotel room with a window shark for a neighbour. (I’m told the palm tree shape makes the resort a huge pain in the arse to get around, too). Instead we opted for the cheapo route (I prefer to call it the ‘economical’ route)  and decided to hop onto a speed boat, for a peek around the other side instead.

The Need for Wheeee

It turns out I really don’t mind zooming away at high speed, so long as it’s more or less going in a straight line. So long, Paragliding, I hardly flew ye. *raises parachute at half mast*  Anyway, sitting in a speed boat is FUN especially when you hit a wave and become suspended in time, space and motion for a half second – everyone’s bums simultaneously hoisted into mid air, before crashing back down again… hopefully not on the floor, unless you are a foolish European woman who didn’t listen when the guides told you to hold onto the guard rail (To be clear, that wasn’t me. I’m a law-abiding citizen, especially in Dubai).

The bright yellow speedboat was planted directly in front of the Palm Jumeirah, with the guides cheerfully taking photos of each group of tourists who bumbled their way to the front, posing arms akimbo (They actually told us to do this). The Palm Jumeirah Hotel was pretty impressive, but looked surprisingly dated with its peachy tones. Apparently it was completed in 2001, but personally I felt the facade gave off a hint of the Seventies.

As you left the port and on the way back, the boat plods slowly through the waterway, leaving you plenty of time to soak in the surroundings. That was all very pleasant and it was great to tick the Palm Jumeirah off the list, but the thrill of the speed boat hurtling across the water and blasting cold air at a trio of sun-burnt Asians (I remember a lot of WHEEEEEE in my head) was definitely the highlight.

Drinks n’ stuff

There was plenty of choice on offer, dining-wise. None of it was particularly economical, but you don’t come here if you’re emptying out the piggy bank. The Souk Madinat area is a very popular area full of restaurants, bars and a small river running through it all where you can climb onto a traditional ‘Abra’ boat on the way to dinner.

The Burj Al Arab from across the water at the beautiful Souk Madinat

As both Erica and I considered this trip to be a sort-of-joint-birthday celebration (both April babies, whoop), we ate out at a couple of semi swanky restaurants, including at COYA, a classy Peruvian orientated restaurant located within the Four Seasons Resort. I love Peruvian food and writing this now, I feel somewhat bashful talking about what a swanky, posh meal it was, Given a) I later casually dined in COYA London on a quiet weekday night b) Having er, been to Peru. Nevertheless, at the time, I was happy, the food was good, and I got an excellent birthday card given to me. Let the rest of the world know that you can’t get good birthday cards outside of the UK – this is a fact.

 

We also found time to clamber over to the JW Marriot Marquis Bar for drinks over a beautiful view of the metropolis. It’s also the world’s tallest hotel, natch. Life really isn’t that bad when you get to do things like this, you know? We need to remember things like that, and I need to remember these moments like these.

Happy Birthday to me

Well That Kinda Souk’d

Not my best joke.  But all to say, the Gold and Spice Souks were rather disappointing. Although, to be disappointed in the first place suggests they failed to meet some sort of expectation to begin with.

I have yet to go to a ‘souk’ that was ever was interesting in real life as the exotic imagery of its name entails, so quite why I expected something here, is beyond me. I suppose the term ‘Gold and Spice souks’ evokes and stimulates the senses.. the eyes treated to a decadence of all that shimmers, the ears would be drawn by tunes of Arabian nights, and the nose intoxicated with the whiff of burnt Cinnamon and Cardamon in the air.

In reality, the gold was so utterly bling I couldn’t walk past several displays without visibly squinting. They were all behind glass shop panels anyway presumably with price tags I neither cared to afford, nor had any reason to look up. At the Spice souk, I heard a great deal of “ni hao’s” and “annunghaseyo’s”, and the smell – well, that was fine I guess. Hardly intoxicating.  I also had to resort to wearing my sunglasses (indoors) just to avoid any accidental eye contact, lest some excitable gentleman leapt upon an opportunity to sell me that Bay Leaf that I  clearly had designs on.

Half Day Trip: The only reason to visit Abu Dhabi (apparently)

The comparison of ‘filthy rich’ Dubai versus ‘religiously conservative’ Dubai is often hard for me to reconcile. The two are not mutually exclusive but I often associate conservatism with modesty…which isn’t the first word that springs to mind when visiting this city.

OK – admittedly, it’s not actually in Dubai – but with the Sheik Zayed Mosque I think they’ve achieved a fantastic compromise of ‘religiously conservative…but backed by Scrooge McDuck’.  I suppose you need some reason to visit Abu Dhabi – not that it cares, given it’s even richer than Dubai.

Otherwise known as the Grand Mosque, it is unsurprisingly the largest one in the country.  Completed in 2007, the complex is stunning in size and elegance, with a mix of Arabic, Moorish and Persian design influences.

It also very, very white, in a sort of Too Holy For You Riff Raff sort of way.

The exterior consists of pillars, columns and courtyards of smooth, cool marble, inlaid with mother pearl. Shuffling along in my humble make-shift headdress (thank you, H&M), I must be quiet, respectful, and stick to the damn pathways.

Inside, the interior houses the world’s largest indoor carpet (yes, it’s here) as well as the world’s third (only third?) largest indoor chandelier, decorated with MILLIONS of Swarovski crystals for good measure.

The mosque screams both chaste and LOOK AT ME in equal measure and it really is incredibly impressive. As the sun sets, the water installations along the front arcade begin to illuminate and reflect the image of blue-grey clouds against the outer walls. These lights apparently brighten and darken accordingly to the phases of the moon, and if all that that doesn’t show you that you’re walking among grounds fit for a God, I don’t know what will.

Sand Dunes and Glittering Boobs

The desert safari was undoubtedly one of the things I was most looking forward to.  No water (no risk of drowning > death), no endless plummeting through the sky (no risk of zipline failing, parachute not opening > death), just the irritation of sand particles lodged in less than ideal places.

The GetYourGuide itinerary held much promise. There would be camels, dune bashing, a barbeque meal under the stars and a ‘show’. Any half jaded traveller will be wary of a ‘show’ but this was inevitable and besides – after we’d finished eating, if there wasn’t something distracting happening elsewhere we’d all be awkwardly just looking at each other.

The experience itself was overall, good clean fun. We were picked up and started off with a uneventful (but joyously, flat-roaded) drive in a 4×4 to said desert. Once we’d reached the required patch of dusty road, the car would veer off onto the rough terrain and begin dune bashing it’s way to the site. We stopped midway at a dedicated ATV circuit – basically a fenced off patch of mildly undulating desert mounds where you can clamber onto a quad bike and zoom around for thirty minutes, to temporarily experience the thrill of being in a low budget caper flick.  You can even do that for 45 minutes, but a slightly grumpy attendant will wave you down frantically afterwards and your friends will ask ‘er, what happened to you’. Whoops.

Anyway, I was highly apprehensive of the dune bashing, given my stomach’s now apparent inability to hold it together in any potential quease-inducing situation. I had made sure to eat a small breakfast with minimal puke potential and had soberly taken my anti-nausea pills bang on time.  When it came down to it, the dune bashing was fun in a novel sort of way although very, very bumpy – Erica definitely hit her head a couple of times – but not ultimately not nauseous, much to my relief.  For the uninitiated, dune-bashing consists of weaving up, down and around sand dunes, with the experience almost entirely dependent on the skill of your driver. You get shoved side to side, propelled several times mid-air and will certainly risk concussion without a seatbelt. If you have other strangers in the car with you, prepare to be intimately familiar with them by the end of the journey. I wouldn’t recommend bringing your elderly parents.

(Since writing this, I have also been dune bashing in Peru and realised that it can actually be much more thrilling, unlike in Dubai when it was just..very bumpy).

Upon arrival at the random site in the middle of the desert – alongside at least a dozen other tour companies with hundreds of other bruised tourists – we got in line to ride the Camels.  The more I think about these poor things, the more sad I feel. Your day consists of sweaty humans struggling to mount you, walking around in a small circle, and then sweaty humans struggling to dismount you.  Camelid rights aside, I observed the ride to be extremely lurchy, with the most perilous part undoubtedly being the dismount.

What they don’t tell you is that the Camel will buckle at the knees to allow you to dismount, but my god it is so abrupt that if you’re not careful, then your neck will experience whiplash as it snaps back in response and it is not a pleasurable feeling. I was slightly sore but thankfully my vertebrae appeared to be fully intact and I didn’t get spat on (courtesy of Camel muzzles), so I considered my first camel ride to be a win.

Of other touristy things available to do at the site, we got henna tattoos, played dress up in full traditional robes (which, whilst made me feel somewhat chaste, also made me look so fat and terrible that those photos can be considered digitally incinerated) and posed for photos with a Falcon which on hindsight, I will never look at again. I also had a walk just outside the site, in an attempt to appreciate and marvel at the beautifully wind-swept mounds of sand and dust under sunset. I suppose they chose this location for a reason though – I do love the immeasurable expanse of the desert, but here it was largely flat with unimpressive, tame-looking sand dunes. Of course that didn’t stop many girls asking their bored partners to take photos of them looking wistfully into the distance.

The BBQ meal was just fine – we were not here for the food. We sat in rows and rows of benches that surrounded the centre circle. From what I remember, there was an incredibly oily man who was meant to showcase his flame throwing/fire-eating abilities, but who also demonstrated a penchant for having some fine looking abs. Well, they wanted to entertain us, and I was entertained.

The main act of the night seemed to be the belly dancer. Or rather, the lady who jiggled her boobs constantly against her beglittered, gold shimmery vest. I was That Day Years Old when I realised that actually, this was probably the point of belly dancing. By moving your belly, you really made your boobs dance, and this was the clear appeal – at least to the male population. It would have been fascinating to see the thought bubbles appear above the heads of the wives and girlfriends, versus the husbands and boyfriends.

I don’t know why I didn’t take a decent photo of the belly dancer – possibly because I was so mesmerised by her shimmying.

Afterwards, the announcer made a big deal of the act that they would be switching off all the nights for a few minutes, so that we could appreciate the wondrous nature of sitting in an endless desert, camped out in nature, under the shimmering presence of nothing but starlight.  I want to tell you that it was a life changing moment. Where in a moment of complete and utter silence, I gazed upwards, contemplated my existence and bared my soul to the aura of a million twinkling stars. Of course, it was pretty cloudy that evening, and I had sand up my butt. Epiphanies would have to wait for another night.

Burj-eoning expectations

Haha, well at least I make myself laugh.

No one comes to Dubai willingly, without attempting to scale the Burj Khalifa. At over 829 metres high (the last two metres coming courtesy of a 2m antennae ‘topping out’ in 2009 – definitely something a man suggested), it is (in case you’ve forgotten)  the tallest building on Earth.

In scaling the BK, you’re obviously paying for the view, and the ability to boast that you’ve stood on top of the world’s tallest man-made structure. The price you’re paying for that privilege is about 60 USD, which is quite a lot for standing somewhere really high. As such, the experience needs to be ‘topped out’ by informative but exhausting displays of How We Built Something More Awesome Than Your Country, in an unavoidable IKEA-like series of corridors before you get to see the view. (You will also acquire access to the gift shop). I see why they would do it – you’d want to build anticipation and  provide some background context before you pry sixty bucks away from a set of clammy foreigner hands to look out the window.  I’m tempted to say (heck, I will say) that it doesn’t really matter. People will come, because it’s the Burj Khalifa. We like world records. We like vast, sprawling views. We like being really, really high up and looking down our noses on those tiny commoner ant-humans, down at ground level.

And that is what the BK is. It is (literally) the pinnacle of Dubai’s achievements, a steel platform from which you can gaze admiringly at their work. You won’t see the natural beauty of mountains, waterfalls, rainforests. You will see the carefully crafted, PR-refined vision of a city that is really proud of what it became and wants you to feel their smugness too. There is no doubt the view is impressive. I even have it immortalised on a canvas print on my apartment wall. Back then and even now though, I’m unsure about what it stirs in me. When I look at all of my other canvas prints (photographs I have taken at various points during my travels), they evoke nostalgia. For a moment, I am transported back and I remember what it felt like to be standing there, humbled and happy. It’s incredibly cheesy, but true. But when I look at that picture atop the Burj Khalifa, I don’t really feel much – and it’s an accurate recollection because I didn’t really feel much that day either. It was awe-inspiring, it was unlike a view I had ever seen before – but it felt so isolated. Pointing my camera phone out and looking at the screen, I could have been playing Sim City 3D.  It didn’t feel like I was experiencing real life – a common feeling in this city.

Still, this was Dubai, this was the UAE. I always think you won’t experience a city fully unless you also experience what they want you to see. That side in itself, is a telling personality trait, true of humans as it is for oil-rich Arab nations.

Brief sidetrack to ‘The World’

Of all the ridiculously over the top shows of wealth and “just coz i can”-ness that Dubai loves to flaunt, I would see ‘The World’ islands right at the top. This is an incomplete mass of small islands reclaimed from the sea, artificially designed to be in the shape of well – the entire world. As in, what you’d see on page three of an atlas.  Yes, they’ve just ruddy well gone and started to create Earth’s continent in “miniature”. Not surprisingly, the project has hit a few obstacles along the way, although I understand they’re halfway through completing the first hotel to be situated on this pretentious coral-destroying lump of showiness.

And then Dubai, without the makeup on

On our final day in Dubai, we made a trip to the ‘Old Quarter’ of Dubai. It was a much less talked about part of town, but we were a little sick of the glitz and wanted to humanise the place a bit more in our memories before we left. We were glad we went. Whilst not much to speak of in terms of grand attractions, the Al Bastakiya Quarter was the welcome and refreshing contrast we wanted it to be. Simple, plain and unpretentious.

We started with a local breakfast at the well known Arabian Tea House, a beautifully decorated cafe, though it unfortunately housed as many flies as there were patrons.

Afterwards, it was a lovely morning spent weaving in and out of the narrow, maze-like streets, into art workshops and creative spaces, seeking respite from the unforgiving heat.

Was this the real Dubai, before it turned into the party-loving, extravagant personality it was today? Was this the Dubai the morning after, stripped of its make up and superficial veneers, when it isn’t bothering to pretend anymore?

We later headed to the Etihad Museum to find out more.  Whilst slightly under the radar, it was a well-rated attraction and promised to shed light on the historical and cultural heritage of the UAE. Well, it was a nice enough building – clean, huge, quiet and modern. But I left feeling like I had just been given a souped-up PowerPoint presentation that was big on style and ‘milestones’ but lacking in the gritty content. There were many exhibits exulting the glorious Sheiks of decades past, and the historic discussions that unified the seven Arab Emirates into the great country it was today (barring those annoying neighbours Bahrain and Qatar, who opted for pesky independence). Maybe I was looking for history in the wrong place, or maybe they just weren’t interested in showing that part of their history.  I was looking for the awkward blurry photos of the UAE’s gangly acne-scarred teenage years. I was looking for a Day In The Life of your average Emirati (Before the government gave them… nevermind), not a slideshow on How I Got To Look This Good. After all, ‘Etihad’ means ‘together’ or ‘as one’. The emphasis was on the glorious success ultimately achieved in unification.

I guess I wouldn’t be finding any skeletons in this ample closet. With Dubai, what you see is what you WILL get.

Next up, on Katie, You’re Behind On Your Blogs – beautiful Oman.

I’ll just leave this here to freak everyone out.