Dubai, a cross between Hong Kong, mid-bubble Tokyo and Costa del Sol. Which I guess adds up to a British Las Vegas, without the gambling, without Celine Dion (although I reckon she could easily make even more of a killing by adding a tour stop here) but with a somewhat more draconian approach to law enforcement. I was there ostensibly on business of the "tell you and I have to kill you" variety. However as you can see from the photies, I managed to fit in a bit of extra-circular.
While my experience of Dubai was limited to mainly hotels, a client's office, the airport and a tourist trap afternoon tour, I think I can say almost categorically, that it is a cultural black hole. And I'm not sure if in appearing like a liberal oasis in an otherwise restricted desert, this is the reason it attracts large numbers of foreigners of the true "expat" sort, or whether the expats themselves have sucked the cultural life right out it. Chicken and egg I suppose, or perhaps that should be tax exile and tax haven?
Anyway, after earning our crust and business class air tickets, my colleagues (from London and Hong Kong) and I were set free to explore. We made it all the way to the concierge desk of the hotel, where we met a man who suggested the dune-bashing tour. After signing up and specifying that not only did we want a car of our own but that were willing to pay for the other three people we didn't want in the car, we were dismayed to find that there had been a misunderstanding and in fact, we had companions - a drippy couple who never said a word and a German from Hong Kong, who immediately alienated himself from group by lighting up a cigar. Granted it was outside the car, but it was at a time when most of us were already ready to heave.
So when we get into the desert proper, the driver tells us to get out and then lets down the tires of the 4-wheel drive. At this point I'm thinking kidnap scenario but after enough air has been deflated, we are told to pile back into the car and he belts it hell for leather across (above, under, and over) the sand dunes. Five minutes of non-stop laughter from me quickly turns into whining, followed by silence as I try to concentrate on keeping down the large plate of bread and hummus I had for lunch. Now the reaction to the cigar becomes clear no?
Eventually there is some respite as we are encouraged to get out the car and admire the sunset. Which I do, in between deep breaths. We then head off to the camp where we are offered the afore-featured camel ride, henna tattoos and beer and wine, which I eventually found the stomach to drink, as well as a variety of grilled meats. All in the company of the Brits Abroad tour group. The belly dancing was off apparently due to Ramadan. Needless to say, we definitely made our own fun. I mean who couldn't have a laugh at a farting camel?
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