One week in Dubai.

I arrive in Dubai half an hour before midnight. At immigration they ask me if it’s my first time and I say yes. They tell me I’ve been before. I look confused until I remember spending a few days in Abu Dhabi on the way to Bhutan. I’ve been before to the UAE.

I catch a cab to the hotel in the Marina. It races down the broad highways and I catch my first glimpse of the city: the Dubai Frame shining golden in the night and The Museum of the Future, an oval structure adorned with Arabic calligraphy.

At the hotel they ask if I’ve canceled my reservation. I don’t think so. Did you book through Expedia? Yes.

Apparently, I’m not the first. Expedia has canceled a few reservations and they’ve had to deal with this issue a few times today. The front desk agent asks me to hold for a moment while she sorts everything out. She checks the price. You got a great deal. The going rate is now many times the price I reserved. I tell her I booked the room almost a year ago.

She srikes a few keys on her computer and soon hands me a room key. Breakfast is not included, but I have access to their beach club on The Palm Jumeirah and a discount on food. I thank he rfor her help and ride the lift to my room.

The room faces away from the marina, towards the desert. A refinery lights up the night sky, and lights that blanket the desert to the horizon. I step out onto the balcony to take in the scene and leave the door open to circulate the air as I wash up and go to bed.

The next day I devote to errands. I’m headed to New Zealand next and the videos I have watched about how strict they are with what you can and cannot bring into the country scare me. I’ve bought some tiles for Duncan, and it’s a little unclear whether I can bring them in. I also fear for the bracelet I’ve just purchased in Bizerte. I figure it’s better to be safe than sorry and find a DHL in a mall that’s near to the hotel.

I decide to walk. The streets aren’t empty but the scale of the city makes me feel small and the number of pedestrians few. It’s a city of glimmering towers and wide highways; it’s worlds away from the narrow cobblestoned medina I’ve called home the past month. The contrast is jarring.

A Christmas tree greets me upon entering the mall. It’s fun seeing this reminder of the season just past. I find the DHL just beyond it on the second level. It’s a kiosk; not even a storefront. An attendant sits in the middle of a circular counter. He’s from Sri Lanka and tells me his family is in gemstones. He still works for them, but does this as well. He likes meeting and talking to people and he’s happy to help me with my problem.

I eat lunch in the food court. An outdoor terrace overlooks the marina, but there are no tables available and so I’m forced to eat indoors. I order tacos. It’s been a minute since I’ve had Mexican food and while they may not be the best, I enjoy them for what they are. I have a dinner reservation at Trèsind Studio and I don’t want to spoil my appetite.

I walk further north along the canal and cross the next bridge I encounter towards the sea. Passing a barber shop I decide on a haircut. I’m long overdue.

I walk through a pedestrian mall on my way back to the hotel and head to the beach as soon as I can find a way through the buildings. There, I find restaurants and shops and kiosks and the somewhat surprising sight of beachgoers, unaccustomed as I am to crossing from a city block crowded wth skycrapers to a sandy beach by warm waters.

That night I take a cab to the St. Regis Gardens at the base of the Palm. I’m early and I kill time on the rooftop gardens by the restaurant. The View Palm Jumeirah towers over me and I debate paying the admission to head up for the views but decide against it, content to sit on a ledge and watch the people wander by.

Dinner is fantastic. I’m guided by Namrata through the menu, split into sections like acts in a play. I have a cocktail before the meal and fall into conversation with the bartender, who sees my appreciation for the drink he prepares and has me sample the spirits they make.

Leaving the restaurant I run into a group of friends who had been eating on the other side of the restaurant. I ask them for recommendations on other places to try and they suggest Urla, which has views of the Burj Khalifa as well as good food and great vibes. I make a note of it.

On the way home, I ask the taxi driver to stop shy of my hotel. I’ve heard there’s a drone show every night on the beach and I manage to catch the very end, a heart beating in the sky, a parachutist floating above the sea.

A friend from India tells me she has friends in Dubai and asks me if I’d like to meet them. I tell her I’d love to meet her friends and she tells me to hang tight. She comes back to me with an introduction and her friend and I make plans for lunch later in the week.

On Tuesday I head to the beach, reserving the second bus of the morning. I take a dip in the water and walk the length of the beach before taking lunch from my lounger on the sand. I’m not allowed to sit by the pool.

On Wednesday I take the advice of the group of friends and head to Urla for lunch. It’s a bit of a dry run to visit the Burj Khalifa as I have tickets to visit the next day.

I take a cab to the Dubai Mall, entering through the Chinatown area. The cab driver has told me he can’t go directly to the restaurant and that this is the best place for him to drop me off. Inside, I walk past Chinese restaurants and shops and through the bulk of the mall to emerge onto the plaza before the Burj Khalifa.

It takes me a while to find the entrance to Urla. I can see the terrace and the restaurant name from the plaza, but I have to head around a hotel and climb to the main entrance in order to walk through to the restaurant.

The group of friends were not wrong. It’s a fantastic location. I’m early and so the vibes aren’t in full force, but the food is good. It’s reminiscent of Soho House when I first joined. My waiter is Nepalese and we chat while it’s still slow. He’s been in Dubai for a while and has liked it, but now he’s looking forward to heading home.

I watch the fountain show from the terrace, clued in by the fact that crowds had begun to form around the lake. It’s a fun time and I lament that I can’t linger into the night.

I return to the area the next day to head to the top of the Burj Khalifa. Well, not quite the top. The price tiering of the tickets confused me slightly and I balked at the price of the luxury experience, which allows access to the lounge on the 154th floor. I opt for the premium experience, which limits me to the 148th floor.

The cab driver drops me off in a parking structure attached to the mall. Unfortunately, the door to the mall is locked. Earlier in the week a woman told me the mall is always open and I’m surprised to find I cannot enter. I spot some lot attendants and walk over to ask them how to get in. They direct me to another area of the parking lot.

I walk through the mall back to the fountain in the plaza as I await my scheduled time.

In line I meet a woman from Chicago. She’s long wanted to visit Dubai and is thrilled to have finally had the chance.

We’re ushered into a waiting area and stickers are handed out based on our tickets. She’s luxury, headed to the 54th floor.

We’re lead to the lifts, past a portrait of Mohammed bin Rashid Al Maktoum next to the following quote:

“The word ‘impossible’ is not in the leaders’ dictionaries. No matter how big the challenges, strong faith, determination and resolve will overcome them.”

We walk a winding path to the elevators, pausing at one point to look up through a window to where we’re headed.

The Luxury ticket holders are loaded in first, followed by us premium holders. We’ll stop first at the 148th floor before the Luxury passengers continue to the top.

From the 148th floor, central Dubai looks futuristic. Polished skyscrapers emerge from the desert, while the lower buildings that form the rest of the city stretch towards the horizon. In the distance, I can make out the Jumeirah Burj Al Arab in the haze, a sail parked by the sea.

I spot a machine like those where you put in a penny and some change and crank a a handle to turn the penny into a keepsake. This one is more simple. You tap your card and receive a token commemorating your trip to the top. I loved the keepsakes and machines as a child but never let myself spend the money. Here, I tap my card and seven dollars later I hear a solid thunk as the coin drops into a tray for me to collect. I’m as giddy as a schoolchild.

I sit down at a table and am offered water and orange juice. Moon cakes and dates follow. I’m asked if I’d like a coffee and I ask for a flat white. An illustration of the Burj Khalifa is laid upon the foam in cocoa.

I walk around the floor before heading down to the lower observation floors. I meet a man from New Zealand who’s having troubles with the height. He sits on a sofa, reluctant to stand. He tells me that they have the Sky Tower in Auckland, but it’s nowhere near as high as this. I wish him courage.

The lower decks are more crowded. One is open at the top to the elements. People take photos of the view and each other, huddled on the edge.

Checking the time I see it’s time to descend. I’m meeting my friend’s friend for lunch at a nearby cafe and I still need to make my way down before walking over.

It’s a beautiful day and the views of the Burj Khalifa couldn’t be better from the ground looking up. I walk past the lagoon and pause behind the sculpture of a heart that marks one end of the plaza to take a photo of myself and the tower reflected in its surface.

I walk to the main road and down to the cafe. There are a few people on the sidewalk, but Dubai doesn’t seem a walking town. I imagine it’s too hot to even contemplate; fortunately it’s the winter and even though the temperatures are mild, it’s still warmer than I’ve become used to in Tunis.

It’s great meeting up with my friend’s friend. It’s been a while since i’ve had such a social encounter and I relax into our conversation about Dubai, the neighborhoods, things to do. She recommends I visit the fish market if I have time. And the old city and the markets nearby. I can take a ferry from one side of the creek to the other.

All too soon it’s over. She ask if I’ll be back in Dubai. I tell her it’s likely and she tells me I should let her know when I’m next in town.

The next day I take my friend’s advice and take a cab to the Old Town. The market feels slightly Disney-fieid, a simulacrum of what it might have been, seemingly designed for tourists.

It’s still early and the streets are quiet, though I spot a bus arriving to drop off a group of tourists as I pass by the main rotunda.

I walk west intending to walk the length of the medina, in search of the ferries that cross to the other side. There lies the gold souk and older neighborhoods that had made up the city.

I find a ferry but there’s still more to explore. I see boats that look like less formal ferries plying the route and decide to keep walking. There seems to be a pier ahead.

I find the docks at the end of the medina. It’s a casual affair. I’m told how much it is and then invited onto a boat. It leaves when full.

A man throws bread into the water and soon seagulls flock around us. He absentmindedly continues to break bread into small chunks. Some birds catch the bits in midair.

I pay the boatman and cross a boulevard that runs along the creek to Old Baladiya Street. I enter another market, which feels more authentic. On the other side, I find the gold souk. A group of Asian tourists crowds around a window. Mannequins model gold swimsuits beyond the glass.

Leaving the souk I walk the side street and then call a cab. I decide to head to the Deira Fish Market, perhaps for lunch.

The cab drops me off at a fairly nondescript mall and it takes me a moment to find the fish market within the complex, but when I do I’m struck by its size and its uniformity. Its a huge hangar with the feel of a pristine parking lot. Blue columns indicate the various sections, each adorned with a letter. All of the workers dress alike, in blue shirts and plastic aprons. Fish is everywhere, swimming in tanks or laying on ice. At the far side is a station where you can get your fish cleaned. There’s an area of restaurants where you can take your fish to be cooked.

It’s overwhelming and I feel like I don’t have enough time to properly linger and shop. I have meetings to attend in the afternoon.

Leaving the market I decide I have enough time to visit Alserkal Avenue, which was recommended to me on social media in response to a request for advice on what to do in Dubai. I’m not exactly certain what to expect, but am given to understand there are galleries to explore.

Along the way I pass once again the Dubai Frame and the Museum of the Future, this time in broad daylight, and manage to capture a few photos as we pass.

Alserkal Avenue turns out to be a few blocks in a warehouseye district surrounded by autobody shops. I’m almost skeptical of where the cab has dropped me off until I find a small alley and find my way into the arts district.

Inside there are galleries and shops and cafes and theaters. It’s a great space and I’m thrilled to explore the galleries. At the Mestaria Gallery I’m introduced to the calligraphic art of Wissam Shawkat and buy a catalog as a keepsake. Divya asks if I’d like to join the mailling list and we fall into conversation about art, New York, and traveling. I tell her I’m only in Dubai another day but hope to return. I’ll keep an eye on their exhibitions.

That night I’m rewarded with one of the best sunsets I’ve seen. I step out onto the balcony and watch the colors spread out across the sky before they fade into the darkness of night.

I’ve had a great week; it’s been a great introduction to the city and look forward to returning, if not for a full visit, at least on a layover long enough for me to get out of the airport and back into the city. 🇦🇪

12 – 18 January 2025