DUBAI PART VIII
The first time I managed to actually get into Mall of the Emirates, I braved several lanes of traffic that didn't bother to slow down or even remotely give a fuck in terms of allowing me safe passage. As previously complained about, getting around Dubai is a nightmare as a pedestrian. Crosswalks don't exist, but even if they did, I'm not sure drivers would actually stop. Which, come to think of it, isn't that different from where I live now. Moot point, then. But I've been to many cities where traffic was chaos. The difference here and with, say, Ho Chi Minh, Vietnam, is that in other cities I've felt like an obstacle to overcome by the driver. In Dubai, I felt like a major inconvenience to all.
Mall of the Emirates is like any mall, really. There is a food court with fast food chains from all over the world. There are numerous fast fashion brands offering economical options to contrast the high-end boutiques filled with the latest Parisian creations. The only difference is the massive indoor ski hill, which is uniquely one-of-a-kind (they didn't honour the free pass my hotel gave me, so regrettably – and bitterly – there won't be any review). The anchor store at Mall of the Emirates is Carrefour, which is basically a French Wal-Mart. It definitely had the most foot traffic in terms of foreigners, both expat and tourist. This is also where I spent most of my time and coins stocking up on uniquely flavoured potato chips, souvenirs and books. At check-out, I received a coupon for 50% off plastic surgery at a local clinic. It was rather odd but not entirely surprising. Dubai is one of the most superficial places I've ever visited.
On the way out of the mall, I ran into several men trying to sell me an iPhone 6. As I said "no, thank you" to one, another would pop up. I wasn't really bothered. My mind was focused on why they were there though; it became apparent that my earlier route of jay-walking across several lanes of busy, high-speed traffic WAS the only way into the mall and that it why they congregated there.
DID YOU KNOW?
An unwashed vehicle in the U.A.E. will be subject to a dh500 fine (approximately $200 CDN).
Hanging clothes from one's balcony will be subject to a dh500 - dh1500 fine (approximately $600 CDN).
Eating, drinking or chewing gum on public transport will be subject to a dh100 fine (approximately $35 CDN).
After a week that went by in a flash, my friend departed back to Canada. It was bittersweet. I normally travel solo and was looking forward to the adventure my subsequent time alone would bring, but she also brought a je ne sais quoi to the journey that I otherwise wouldn't have had. This was her first international excursion. A major one too. While Dubai had its challenges, her curiosity and genuine excitement at experiencing new things allowed me to view things in a different way as well. We may be polar opposites, but our perspectives are complementary.
At the metro station near our hotel, we exchanged a hug and she gave me her parting words:
"Don't worry. You look like a journalist."
In a country where women's rights and freedom of speech are often called into question, this wasn't entirely reassuring.
Ski Dubai (©Deborah Clague, 2016).
Coupon received at Carrefour, Mall of the Emirates (©Deborah Clague, 2016).
I should be a spokesperson for Doritos. The yogurt and herb mix was amazing.
DUBAI PART VII
Epcot Centre at DisneyWorld bills itself as a "permanent World's Fair". International pavilions for countries like France, Japan, Canada and Norway, amongst others, showcase their history and culture through entertainment, amusement rides, cuisine, art and local wares available for purchase to those who may never get the opportunity to travel the world. Ever since I was a wee kid, its been my favourite place in the Magic Kingdom. How could I resist a visit to the U.A.E.'s version?
Dubai's Global Market is similar to Epcot but with a distinct focus on the Middle East. There were areas dedicated to Europe and the Americas, but these were small (and lacking traffic). The most popular were focused on the immediate region with Turkey seeming to be the most popular. It was fascinating to get a glimpse into Syria, Iraq, Iran and Palestine without any biased narrative.
This was another of my favourite days spent in Dubai. Highly recommended (but only open during certain times of the year). One day was not enough to see it all, especially if reliant on public transportation and the hours it runs.
An average Dubai neighbourhood (©Deborah Clague, 2016).
Driving out to Global Market, which lies on the edge of Dubai, we passed many neighbourhood filled with desert mansions (©Deborah Clague, 2016).
Under construction: Dubai continues to extend into the desert (©Deborah Clague, 2016).
The entrance to Global Market (©Deborah Clague, 2016).
Global Market (©Deborah Clague, 2016).
Global Market (©Deborah Clague, 2016).
Global Market (©Deborah Clague, 2016).
India pavilion, Global Market (©Deborah Clague, 2016).
Kuwait Pavillion, Global Market (@Deborah Clague, 2016).
Saudi Arabia pavilion, Global Market (©Deborah Clague, 2016).
Market wares, Global Market (©Deborah Clague, 2016).
Murals of Crown Prince Sheikh Hamdan bin Mohammad were located around Global Market (©Deborah Clague, 2016).
Book Reviews
When Breath Becomes Air
Written by Paul Kalanithi
Anyone reading this journal would be able to ascertain that my life forever changed in 2014. Since then, I've been on a quest, often hopeless, in trying to understand and come to terms with my father's unexpected death from esophageal cancer. It is not easy watching a loved one suffer, physically and emotionally, as the toll of their fate approaches. But I was but a bystander. The inner conflict and fear the patient feels is an altogether different realm of reality, one that is rarely documented in such raw, exquisite form. This autobiography details that struggle as author Paul Kalanithi, a neurosurgeon, details his life pre- and post-cancer diagnosis. This is definitely not an easy read – I was teary throughout most of it, the weight of its words weighing on me for days – but certainly a life-changing one.
Favourite line: the last paragraph of this book sits profoundly in my mind and heart as a reminder that the moments in between matter more than we can ever fully comprehend.
I Hate To Leave This Beautiful Place
Written by Howard Norman
The title of this book is what originally drew me in; it references an Inuit story the author transcribed years previous about a man who is turned into a goose and forced to fly south, leaving the home and family he loves behind. But its five chapters are also a broader examination on how life doesn't travel from point A to point B, but rather contain a whole world of impudent detours, unbridled perplexities, degrading sorrows, and exacting joys that can befall a person in a single season, not to mention a lifetime.
Favourite line: "And the story contains, with the philosophical generosity characteristic of Inuit spoken literature, and without necessarily spelling it out, a meditation on what the world requires of and imposes on an individual attempting to live a dignified existence, and how that person comes to knowledge of him- or hersel through indelible experience."
Is Gwyneth Paltrow Wrong About Everything?
Written by Timothy Caulfield
The short answer is yes. This book explores a variety of modern day beauty and health myths, and relates them back to the influence celebrity culture has on society. From the illusion of celebrity authority to the illusion that anyone can be a celebrity, everything is covered. I found it interesting that the book, covering issues and concerns typically relating to the female gender, was written by a man.
Favourite line: "The off the cuff comment from Gwyneth that she has the occasional smoke because the indulgence helps her to look vibrant ... is so ludicrous (and, from a public health perspective, so harmful) that it is hard not to be a bit angry with the actor, particularly as she has set herself up as the paragon of healthy living."
DUBAI PART VI
Walking through the historic Al-Fahidi district, a sign caught my attention causing me to pause mid-stride. "What is this?", I thought to myself. "Should I? Could I?".
I loitered for a bit like a stupid tourist, a stupid (North) Americano tourist, which was exactly the sign's target audience. It tempted. It teased. By this point in my journey to the U.A.E., I was homesick for family and friends and windchill and, yes, greasy fast food. But could I stomach this? I had, after all, just made friends with these creatures the night previous while on a desert safari.
I looked to the Heavens for guidance, as I regularly do on matters relating to the heart, mind and stomach.
"Dad, should I do this?"
"You can't NOT do this, Lou*."
With that assurance, I strode into the restaurant and ordered knowing that my father's omnipresent spirit was sitting right next to me and we were both about to feast.
"One camel burger, please."
Life is savage and strange.
The burger was delicious.
*Since childhood, my father's nickname for me was Lou. I can't even recall an occasion where he called me by my actual name. Predictably, this has caused much confusion in social settings. I believe it originates from my love of Disney's Huey, Dewey and Louie cartoons but this has never been confirmed and the actual origin shall remain an eternal mystery.
The camel burger with fries and a mint-lemon beverage at Local House Restaurant in Dubai (©Deborah Clague, 2016).
In addition to a camel burger, I also tried camel milk and camel milk chocolate while in Dubai. (©Deborah Clague, 2016).
The historic Al-Fahidi district, Dubai (©Deborah Clague, 2016).
The historic Al-Fahidi district, Dubai (©Deborah Clague, 2016).
The historic Al-Fahidi district, Dubai (©Deborah Clague, 2016).
The historic Al-Fahidi district, Dubai (©Deborah Clague, 2016).
The historic Al-Fahidi district, Dubai (©Deborah Clague, 2016).
The historic Al-Fahidi district, Dubai (©Deborah Clague, 2016).
Dubai Museum (©Deborah Clague, 2016).
Dubai Museum (©Deborah Clague, 2016).
Dubai Museum (©Deborah Clague, 2016).
Dubai Museum (©Deborah Clague, 2016).
Deira, Dubai (©Deborah Clague, 2016).
Deira, Dubai (©Deborah Clague, 2016).
Deira, Dubai (©Deborah Clague, 2016).
Deira, Dubai (©Deborah Clague, 2016).
Dubai V
Subtitled: "Abbi and Ilana take on the desert".
The excursion I most looked forward to during my time in Dubai was a desert safari I booked in advance. It would provide an opportunity to interact with the natural environment of the region as well as give me a break from the frustration of trying to get around the city. This was only my third day in, but Dubai's lack of being pedestrian friendly made me regret booking a two-week stay. It increasingly seemed a great place for a short layover while enroute somewhere else, rather than a destination in its own right.
My friend and I were picked up at our hotel by a portly fellow from south India. In his van were several other tourists from the Netherlands and eastern Europe. I got comfortable in the front passenger seat.
"You will all enjoy your day." the driver proclaimed as he turned onto the freeway. "There will be dune-bashing, camels – lots of camels – shisha, mehndi, bellydancing ... and the most delicious feast you will ever experience. Lots of food. So much food! You will come in looking flat like her and leave looking like me."
He gestured in my direction. I wasn't sure if I should be insulted or not. The adjective he used, after all, was "flat" and not "thin". And his bosom did, upon closer inspection, appear bigger than mine. After turning his attention to my friend, and repeatedly commenting on her "strong" nose (which is near perfect), I decided that there was definitely something lost in translation.
After about an hour's drive, we took a sharp left into the sands of the desert. There was no road marker – heck, there was no road. We just started driving in the sand until we met up with an all-black SUV that appeared to be waiting for us.
"This is a very special day." our driver stated before explaining that the SUV in question belonged to a member of the royal family of Sharjah. As if on cue, they – a "Sheikh" and two women that I presumed were his wives – exited the vehicle and proceeded to take selfies of each other, smiling and laughing as though we were on Hollywood Blvd and not literally the middle of a fuckin' desert.
It was one of the most ridiculous things I have ever seen in my life.
Granted, there is a possibility that they were of wealth and power. Perhaps in the U.A.E., second cousins twice-removed are still in line for the throne. However, I couldn't get past my belief that anyone of any social standing in this country would want to spend an evening with a bunch of tourists more excited to visit a camel farm.
The rest of the day's events went as follows:
DUNEBASHING: This was actually more intense than I anticipated. It's basically 45-minutes of feeling like you are going to die in a rollover incident. Not for the faint of heart.
My friend is faint of heart.
While dunebashing, we came across some free-range camels wandering about and whatnot.
CAMEL FARM: We visited a camel farm where the animal is bred exclusively for racing, a major sport in the U.A.E.. There were hundreds of the animals on-site, with a few more docile in nature used to give rides to tourists (the dismount of which scared me more than the dunebashing, tbh).
Near the camel farm was our camp, where we could relax for a few hours and learn about traditional Bedouin culture. This included a falconry display, mehndi and smoking shisha, a glass-bottomed waterpipe in which flavoured tobacco is covered with foil and roasted with charcoal. Some reports compare it to smoking the equivalent of 200 cigarettes at once. I didn't feel anything, although, at this point of the day my friend and I were feeling naturally giddy.
The evening was capped with, as our driver promised, a very delicious feast under the stars.
I'm still "flat" though.
When taking this picture, I didn't notice the person behind me falling down the dune.
On the drive back to Dubai, I again sat in the passenger seat and conversed with our driver as everyone else nodded off in the back. After small talk about the day's events, we discussed our personal lives. I told him about my (now extended) year of adventure and how I was traveling the world in honour of my late father. He told me about losing his home and several family members in the Indian Ocean earthquake and tsunami of 2005, later moving to Dubai to earn enough income to send home and rebuild. As the conversation got heavy, he switched the topic to marriage, inquiring why my boyfriend hasn't proposed.
"Because I'm a loser." I replied.
The night was dark. Just absolute pitch-black over an expanse of seeming emptiness. And yet, at the side of the road, at this late hour, were groups of Emiratis who had parked their vehicles and started fires a few yards in from the highway. I asked the driver why they did this.
"This is how they get away from it all." he replied.
Dubai Part IV
The Gold Souk in Dubai is pure extravagance. Curiously, no rose gold nor platinum is visible. Just pure yellow gold in every shape and form with an aim to make royalty of the common man (and woman). I don't like wearing jewellery, so, while neat to see, I really had no interest in purchasing anything. Besides, as one of the only visible tourists in the area at this hour, the touts had honed in en masse.
"Je n'ai pas parlez anglais" I would state repeatedly and walked on, thankful that my years of French study have paid off in the memorization of at least one useful phrase.
I wandered until I stumbled upon the Perfume Souk, which is less a market atmosphere and more just a bunch of fragrance retailers in close proximity to one another. I love perfume and wear it daily, never truly feeling like myself without it. Having said that, I am rather boring. I like smelling "fresh"; certainly not floral and definitely not musky, which is too strong for me, In the Middle East, the latter reigns supreme. Fragrances are heavily aromatic and lean towards earthy topnotes such as sandalwood, amber and oud. The bottles that hold them are intricately designed and embellished, like jewellery for one's nightstand. I regret that I didn't find anything to satisfy my olfactory sense but it was fun to window shop and just breathe in the air of the area.
From the Perfume Souk, I then made my way to the Spice Souk to overdose on yet more scent. There were no touts here, just curious shop owners making every attempt to sell me saffron.
"I don't know how to cook" I would reply.
This was enough to stop them dead in their pitch, pausing for a moment to quizzically look me over and ponder which planet I was visiting from.
From Deira, the metro stopped at Dubai Mall enroute back to my hotel. I decided to check it out, less for the shopping and moreso to take photography of the Burj Khalifa from its base (the tallest building in the world is adjacent to this largest shopping centre in the world). Following the herd who were also getting off, I made my way down a long – SUPER long (seriously, I cannot stress how long this was) - walkway into the mall proper. It was good exercise. Thank God, it was air conditioned. There were moving walkways but I decided not to take advantage of them as I was traveling faster than the hordes casually using their service.
Searching through the mall for about an hour or so, I couldn't find an exit. I did find a café serving camel milk lattés, as well as a fast food joint curiously specializing only in corn-on-the-cob. I also found a Japanese bookstore where I purchased several flip animation books to add to my growing collection. This was a win but my feet were getting sore and I decided to give up. Perhaps people live in the mall?, I thought to myself. I can't get IN the other one and I can't get OUT of this one. What are the fire codes like here?
Back at the hotel, defeated, I met with my friend who had spent the afternoon nursing jetlag. She had also stopped in Dubai Mall on the way back from the Souks. "Hey – did you see how to get out of the mall to access the Burj?", she asked.
Dubai Mall (©Deborah Clague, 2016).
Multi-coloured panels illuminate a portion of the long - L-O-N-G - walkway into Dubai Mall (©Deborah Clague, 2016).
The aquarium at Dubai Mall (©Deborah Clague, 2016).
The skating rink inside Dubai Mall (©Deborah Clague, 2016).
The "souk" portion of Dubai Mall (©Deborah Clague, 2016).
"The High Dive" artwork in Dubai Mall (©Deborah Clague, 2016).
Dubai Part III
The first "official" day started with this:
A camel race on TV. It We settled on it to provide background noise in lieu of some of the other channels that seemed to exclusively showcase the many achievements and feats of ruler Sheikh Mohammed. I'd never seen a camel race before. I'd honestly never seen a camel run before, falsely believing that they just moseyed about the desert all chill and whatnot. They can actually run up to 65km/hr. It was fascinating to see. They were as gangly and graceless as I imagine I looked back in high school gym class. This made me appreciate and bond with the animal in a way that would become rather awkward a few days later...
At 9:30am, we left our hotel and made our way to the closest metro station, Sharaf. I wanted to take my friend to "Old Dubai", the Deira area, where we could get lost in the sights and sounds of traditional middle eastern markets and have the opportunity to experience something very different from back home. I also may have wanted to buy pajamas. The driverless metro was incredibly efficient, with trains coming every five minutes on the dot. The female-only cars were also appreciated as it was often incredibly crowded and, of course, THAT HEAT. The cars are air conditioned, but one still can't escape the draining exhaustion brought on by THAT HEAT. I'll write more on it later, but as someone who just left a Canadian winter, I felt like I was going to spontaneously burst into flames everyday.
It was still considered early when we arrived at the market. It appeared to be in preparation for a later tourist rush. The eight men for every one woman statistic was never more apparent than when we were touring this area at this time. We were, literally, the only females walking about. At one point, both of us glanced at each other telepathically communicating that we weren't to leave the other's side.
"Louis Vuitton, Prada. Designer bags."
The Gold Souk was ridiculously over-the-top. I have never seen such grandiose creations made out of the metal before. I couldn't imagine where I would wear something so flashy ... or even how much some of the pieces would weigh (much less cost!). It would take great effort to move wearing some of the jewellery on display. My friend couldn't concentrate on all the bling though, as something else seemed to be distracting her.
"Louis Vuitton, Prada. Designer bags. Come this way."
I recall traveling to China years ago and having a difficult time adjusting to some of the aggressiveness one faces by touts while simply walking down the street. I actually remember sprinting away in the French Concession area of Shanghai while a group of them chased after me, all the while yelling designer names as though it were a password that would eventually unlock my wallet. I laugh about it now ... but then, I just wanted to hide in a hole. The unrelenting harassment by these individuals definitely can decrease the amount of enjoyment one takes away from the day and their overall holiday. Now? It doesn't bother me. Just ask one of my exes – there is no one better than me at giving the silent treatment. NO ONE. While I would just keep walking, my friend, an all-too polite Canadian, would always stop and reply. "No, I'm not interested. Thanks."
"Louis Vuitton, Prada. Designer bags. Come this way."
"No, I'm not interested. Thanks."
"Louis Vuitton, Prada. Designer bags. Come this way."
"No, I'm not interested."
"Louis Vuitton, Prada. Designer bags. Come this way."
"NO. I'M NOT INTERESTED!"
"Louis Vuitton, Prada. Designer bags. Come this way."
My friend was done. Exhausted. She had experienced enough and wanted to return to the hotel.
It was 10:30am. After exploring for just an hour, I walked her back to the metro station and saw her off. She would spend the day by the pool and wander Mall of the Emirates.
I returned to the markets on my own.
Gold Souq, Deira, Dubai (©Deborah Clague, 2016).
Deira area of Dubai (©Deborah Clague, 2016).
Deira area of Dubai (©Deborah Clague, 2016).
Dubai Creek (©Deborah Clague, 2016).
View from my seat of the "female-only" car of the Dubai Metro (©Deborah Clague, 2016).
Dubai Part II
The first thing I noticed when traveling via taxi from DXB to Jumeriah, which is where my hotel was located, was how fast everyone drove. Sheikh Zayed Road, the main artery cutting through the United Arab Emirates and Dubai's core in particular, is an eight-lane highway (each direction) where everyone seems to be traveling at a minimum of 140km/hr.
The second thing I noticed was how far-spread out the city seemed.
After initially being dropped off at the wrong hotel, we checked into the proper one a few blocks away. Our earlier friction had all but dissipated; we were in Dubai, wide-awake and ready to explore (even though it was late). The night air remained muggy and the streets had minor activity of mostly groups of men loitering about. I had previously read that males outnumber females 8 to 1 in the city, a very lopsided equation that is surely the result of the construction boom and foreign labour needed to fuel it. Knowing this, at the start of our walk I paid no attention to the remainder of my surroundings. My focus was elsewhere.
We made our way to Mall of the Emirates which appeared to still be open. The act of simply crossing the street was problematic though as multiple lanes of speeding traffic circled the building. We figured we'd had a long day and were probably just missing where we were supposed to enter from. Abandoning this attempt, we decided to try again the following day. After all, we'd have plenty of time to shop.
Walking back to the hotel, I now looked closer at where the hubs of male activity seemed to be congregating and noted a disproportionate number of massage parlours in the area. I'd add quotation marks to those words, but they could very well be reputable businesses.
Reputable massage parlours that completely covered any visibility through their windows.
Reputable massage parlours that were open past midnight.
The following morning, I noticed a high volume of business cards for these massage parlours on all of the parked vehicles in the area. Some specifically advertised their "Russian staff".
Dubai Part I
It has never been easier to present the most perfect version of one's self to the world. Through social media and the ubiquitous selfie, our lives have become seemingly unblemished. Our streams – the modern memoir for a society pressed for time and attention-span – showcase a happy population, affluent in wealth and social connections, who have mastered their angles. Accuracy is a moot point; appearance is everything.
What happens when an entire city represents itself this way?
Dubai has become a major international player over the past two decades. Its economy was originally built on revenues from the oil industry, but today – in an attempt to diversify its future – tourism has taken the focus. While doing research for this trip, there was no end to unique experiences that could only be found in the region from skiing in the desert to visiting man-made islands shaped like the continents of the globe. It certainly intrigued me (as I'm sure it does for the estimated 13.2 million international visitors that descend upon the city each year). My personal motivation for this trip though was to retain insight and cultural understanding into a region of the world that I have never visited before. An area with vastly different laws, beliefs and treatment of women than my own. As a solo female traveller, this would indeed be interesting.
A friend who had never travelled internationally spent the first six days of a two-week excursion with me. The day of departure we were both excited for the adventure that awaited. But first, a long (very long) sixteen+ hours in the air. As we would be arriving at night, I decided to stay awake for as long as possible observing our flight path as it inched forward while traveling over the Atlantic through Europe and then parts of northern Africa. Flying over the desert felt like floating aimlessly in the universe; the blackness was dense and all-consuming.
Upon arrival, I received a VISA and made my way towards the luggage pick-up. But first, another security check. The United Arab Emirates is the only country I've been to where one must pass through security before being allowed entry. I had nothing to declare or hide but that didn't stop my mind from worrying if I had missed something ... if, perhaps, something I carried that was completely innocuous in Canada was, in fact, a banned item in the UAE. The country does have strict laws, of which I've read up-and-down, side-to-side, but that never entirely foils human error or the fact that I can be a complete idiot.
My "Louis Vuitton" keepall bag, which I'm genuinely surprised has survived the past decade since I purchased it at a Chinese blackmarket for roughly $20, made it through along with all of its contents. And so we made our way to collect our luggage. A duty-free store adjacent to this location captured my friend's attention:
"Deb - there is booze!!! We need to get some!"
Oi. It hadn't even been an hour. I reminded my friend of what I'd read. That in order to obtain alcohol in the UAE, one must obtain a liquor license*. We didn't have one. Nor did I have plans to apply for one. Besides, she would just have to survive six days without wine. Surely not an impossible feat. The worst case scenario would be paying the price at our hotel's bar.
"But there's a blonde woman in there buying wine..."
I didn't budge on my stance that we shouldn't indulge. "I don't care, this isn't Canada."
This exchange repeated ad nauseum as we awaited arrival of our luggage. Where the hell were our bags? My friend grew visibly irritated with my conservatism, while I grew exasperated with her teenage rebellion. As one can observe, I am the more disciplined individual in our opposites-attract friendship. And by "disciplined", I mean that I am terrified of getting in trouble and being thrown in a foreign prison. Hence the stick up my ass. There will always be endearment between us though, even when we annoy the shit out of each other.
We unite in balance.
Just not at the moment.
After an hour – AN HOUR – of standing around waiting for our luggage, the bags were finally spotted. For a country that aims to focus on tourism as its main economic sector, I was surprised at this inefficiency. But this was only the beginning.
Adventure awaits.
*While I was correct in that a license is needed to procure alcohol in the country proper, the duty-free shop at arrivals in DXB is the one place to sidestep this prior to entry.