Dubai

--- 27 December 2007; JFK Airport, NY, USA

The first sentence is the hardest part. Probably because I am not a great enough writer to articulate these weird butterflies (or raging monkeys, charging elephants and elegant swans – whatever metaphorical creature you can think of that resides in my gut.)
The 30 hours pre-take off are strange, because I don’t know what to feel. Because I just spent an entire day packing for this trip that doesn’t let on what it will entail – therefore I pack too much in my fearful anticipation of fabricated terrible events in my imagination. I also say goodbye to my parents – the only two people in my life who continue to amaze me with their undying love, support and understanding.

I have all these images in my head for what my life will be like for the next four months; who my family will be, the things I learn, the places I go, people I befriend. They screen through my mind like memories already made and stored away on a movie reel for me to replay. Then I remember that those memories do not exist yet. The familiar faces are not real and the desired experience and growth is uncertain. That’s when the movie reel tears and I am left with nothing but my own strength to know that I can get through this unknown.




--- 28 December 2007; Dubai, UAE

Pounding headache – I’m not sure if I should take those sleeping pills ever again. However, gratefully they knocked me out for the entire 12.5 hour flight – but I can barely move in my hotel bed, my head hurts. Granted I am split between two time zones; Dubai is 9 hours ahead of New York. And I also I think strained myself but carrying my stupid backpacks. The woes of being a female.

So currently I am sitting on my balcony in my hotel, Pacific Hotel. I must be honest – everyone makes the city to be extremely glamorous, hence its nickname the Las Vegas of the Middle East. But to me, it just seems like Middle East. Granted, the markets on my street are lit so bright I can’t help but to be reminded of Times Square. When I stepped out of customs and into the waiting area of the airport, there were hordes of people waiting for loved ones. I was previously told that Dubai has many Indians and Pakistanis because it is a common layover for flights from the two nations. And I left the airport I saw that – and smelt it. It smelt just like India. Maybe that’s the universal smell for the Middle East and South Asian continent – but I couldn’t help but be thrown back in my stay in Chennai and Erode in South India in March. From overnight trains to henna and saris to all the marketplaces… and all that dirt on the ship (so much that is was the only port where they laid plastic sheets on the ground to protect the carpets from dirt stains.) That’s the smell that drove me back here.

I stayed in because I felt so tired, and because these Peruvian scars run too deep.



--- 29 December 2007; Dubai, UAE

Woke up to this strange chanting. After gathering my scattered mind I remembered that it was the Call to Prayer. I am in a Muslim nation after all. It was 6:18am. I stepped onto my balcony and watched some men drop to their knees and pray. It was still dark out so there weren’t many people on the street as it was at night. As I was going inside, I caught my reflection in the glass of my sliding balcony door, and wondered if I could ever believe something so strongly, and if it would actually be a good thing.

A few hours later I gathered my things and headed to Ramee International Hotel where my friend Mark was staying in. He had just landed this morning. Walking there was hard. Mostly because I have so much crap with me. The streets here are very small, one direction. And are not in a grid system like my lovely Manhattan. Also, I am the only female. There are no women on the streets right now and then there’s me – this tiny little white girl with bright blue eyes and short hair carrying huge bags that look as they could completely collapse her. Finally, after 15 minutes I find the hotel and call Mark’s room and take my stuff upstairs. Having only met Mark once before – it was nice to see a familiar face and not be alone again tonight.

After washing our faces and catching up (and discussing how marvelous the Emirates airplanes are!!) we left the hotel to explore and get a feel for the city. Dubai is known for its many souqs, which are small markets with specific specialties such as gold, spice, cloth. We wandered into the gold souq and realized how financially out of place we truly were (2500$ for a gold necklace, no thanks! I’ll probably break it.) Mark bought a traditional Muslim head scarf, but can’t for the life of him put it on correctly. Walking around the Spice souq, we simply absorbed all the scents that convinced the Europeans to imperialize the world. Dubai is a huge immigration city, so most vendors were Iranian, Pakistani, Indian – and one spice vendor took us into the shop to teach us all the spices. He would rub bits of spices and roots onto our fingers, palms and forearms to give us the smell. My right pointer finger smelt of cinnamon all day and I didn’t mind in the least.

We took the water taxi over to the Bur Dubai across the creek. I was surprised the boat actually float soundly across the creek but it was a gorgeous day and the sea was green against the perfect blue sky. We wound up eating at an Indian restaurant, which began to close in the middle of our meal for an afternoon break. We grabbed a taxi and headed for the Burj Al Arab, the world’s only self-proclaimed seven-star hotel. The taxi let us out and the whole dynamic of the city changed. Our surroundings changed from local smells with dark men in halats to thin white women in huge Gucci sunglasses. This is the Dubai everyone thinks of - the Las Vegas of the Middle East, and this is the Dubai I am not a huge fan of. We became engulfed by European tourists, snapping photos at the gate of the Burj. Only guests are allowed in so we joined in the camera spree of pictures, bummed that we couldn’t lay among the world’s richest.

We walked around Jumeriah, looking at hotels, feeling out of place and trying to find the public beach. Finally a man told us to catch a bus. The bus ride was long. Mark sat down only to receive mean glances from women until we realized it was a women’s only seating. Finally, in perfect timing, we arrived at the beach at sunset, we ran to the boardwalk. We arrived at the Persian Gulf which was dyed black with yellow waves. In the distance the sun set near the Burj Al Arab and we took our pictures then laid in the sand for a while, absorbing our moment of true reality that we were about to embark on another adventure. After bathing our feet in the water and finding a few dozen stars, we took a taxi back to the hotel which we both fell asleep to the sound of cars honking. Immediately we went to sleep. Mark woke me up at 2:30a, raring with energy and a growling stomach. It was too late to head out so we ordered room service and chatted until we fell asleep again.

Soon again, we were up to explore. We finally found a men sandal store where Mark bought the most uncomfortable leather shoes, which he did not realize until later. More wandering until we ate at a Lebanese restaurant where we had more food than room on the table. The restaurants here are everything – except local. Chinese, Lebanese, Iranian, Indian, Pakistani, Japanese, Thai, Greek and every American fast food you can think of. We wanted something local and sprung for some freshly made fruit juice from a man on the street. Probably not the wisest move for health reasons, but it hit the spot.

We decided the beach would be the best place to spend the day, but didn’t have our bathing suits – so we decided that our underwear would have to do. Last night at the beach, we only saw families, with women in burqas. We prayed that we wouldn’t be out of place, and upon arrival, we stood in a sea of European breasts and banana hammocks. Our skimpies were less revealing that some bathing suits. However, some women were dressed in full hijabs and burqas – covered hair to ankle, their bare feet dug into the sand. Mark took a few dips into the gulf while I took naps, half listening to an Italian grandmother with her grandson. I suppose Dubai is their Caribbean.

Eventually we went back to the hotel for an evening nap then headed for a late dinner at an Asian restaurant called ‘Yum!’ After a nice glass of wine we walked along the creek, lit up by the various hotels. We passed a sheesha café and could not resist ourselves. So for our last adventure, we sat in the cool night by the creek smoking rose petal and absorbing our last moments in Dubai. I cannot tell you what I think of Dubai. It certainly is unlike any city I know, but to me, it does not seem as unique as I was told. Deira made me feel like I was on the Saudi Arabian penisula while Jumeirah was an exoticised European resort, false in most aspects and only true in the fact that it is simply monetary based. And we all know how I feel about that.

I digress. Repacking our luggage was a chore then we headed to the airport in a taxi with a Pakistani driver who talked about his view of Muslim culture. As a Muslim, he is disappointed in some Muslims, and does not believe that Islamic extremists are actually Muslim. We didn’t even have to ask him questions, he was fully willing to share. He was open about his opinion of the American government, blaming Bush for the recent death in Pakistan. Unfortunately, I drifted in and out of understanding his accent, but he gave me a lot to think about.

Then comes India... but I still need to find a free moment of time to write!! "Soo busy you are" is what Mum Mum (my homestay mother) says.

xopanda