So I’m quite a bit behind on updating
about my travels, but here’s a post about my trip to Dubai in mid-November.
In November, I went to Dubai. My
friend Anna who I met on my program in Egypt in 2006, was working there as a
consultant. For a 24 year old, she had a pretty sweet deal going on.
Hired by the DC office of her company, she was on loan to the Dubai
office, but worked on a project in the neighboring country of Bahrain.
This meant that during the week she lived Bahrain and stayed in her own
apartment that she rented there. But because of "security issues,"
her company paid for her to fly back to Dubai each weekend and to stay at the
Park Hayatt whilst there. Oh, and did I mention that they paid for all
meals and transportation as well? Though of course I was happy for my
friend to have such a lucrative job, I was also happy for myself to be able to
live in the lap of luxury for one weekend.
Arriving in Dubai late on a Wednesday night (Thursday was the Islamic New
Year, and therefore, a holiday in most Muslim countries), my two friends and I
hopped in a shiny white airport taxi which was parked quietly in the taxi
queue. When our South Asian driver turned the key and started the
digitized meter, I knew I wasn't in Kansas anymore. I had come from a country
where order means organized chaos and landed in a place that would turn out to
be a Disneyland without walls.
On the way to the Hayatt, my friends
and I marveled at the perfectly groomed everything- highways, shrubs, turn off
signs, traffic lights, grass, the list goes on. This was just a introduction of
what was to come in this strange land called Dubai.
The taxi dropped me at the hotel and
my friends continued on to where they were to stay for the weekend. My friend
Anna had added my name to her room so I checked in as if I were a paying guest.
Sometimes it's difficult for Americans to allow others to serve them, but
at this point I had gotten over that feeling and was very happy having handsome
young men open doors for me and take my luggage off my hands. It was even
one guy's job to brush the carpet tassels straight after guests walked over
them. Hey... someone's gotta do it.
Anna had to work the next day, so I
took my time getting up, making myself an espresso with the in-room espresso
maker and checking out the grassy patio which opens out to some body of water.
As I saw a group dressed in pastels pass in a golf cart, I thought for a moment
that I was in my grandparent's gated community in Florida.
After showering in the honeymoon style
shower (read: great for couples, not-so-great for friends spending the weekend
together), I headed to the most luxuriously delicious breakfast buffet I have
ever seen, complete with fresh baked bread, exotic fruits, gourmet yogurt in
tiny glass containers and the like. Heading into town to meet my
friends, I simply hailed a hotel taxi and billed it to Anna's room (with her permission,
of course, and at this point only because I had no local money to pay a regular
taxi).
Though my South Asian taxi driver said
that he knew where my destination was, we spend about 1.5 hours finding it.
In Dubai, most "low class" labor is hired from other countries,
meaning that it's likely that who ever is serving you has just arrived to the
country. This not only means that his language skills will be lacking,
but also that he could be directionally challenged. This is coupled with
the fact that Dubai is expanding rapidly, which means that new places are
popping up all the time. This is what happened with the location that I
was looking for, as it was apparently a new area and an even newer apartment
building where my friends were staying. My taxi driver stopped several
times to ask other South Asian workers if they knew where my destination might
be located, though unfortunately none did. I finally called the woman who was
renting the apartment to my friends for the weekend (though aerbnb.com)
and she was able to give me directions which I was then able to relate to the
taxi driver (since she could not understand the taxi driver's thick English
accent).
That's something else about Dubai.
The only time I spoke Arabic was in the airport at customs. The guy at
customs was dressed in the traditional Gulfi garb and asked me several
questions in Arabic, most of which I answered incorrectly simply because I
misunderstood what he was saying. After that, English was everywhere. It
was such an international city that with English as today's lingua
franca, that was the only way everyone could communicate. Though I felt
guilty because I had to make no effort whatsoever, I definitely enjoyed this
aspect of Dubai.
So when I finally met with my friends,
we headed to Dubai Mall, one of Dubai's several incredibly large and
over-the-top shopping centers. In addition to every single store and
restaurant you could ever imagine (H&M, Zara, Bershka, Promod, The Cheesecake
Factory, Potbellys, TGI Fridays, and Red Mango to name ONLY a few), there was a
aquarium, skating rink and Arab style "souq" dedicated only to
displaying high end and high fashion shoes. Outdoors there was a huge pool not for swimming, but instead for decoration and for a water and music and light show which took place ever 30 minutes. (This place is not to be confused with the Mall of the Emirates, the mall with the indoor ski hill) My friends and I spent several
hours both shopping and sight-seeing in the mall before I met up with an "old friend."
It turns out that Karim, my high
school boy obsession, was living and working right outside of Dubai, and came
to the city every weekend because the city where he lived was so boring.
The last time I saw him was 6 years ago when I visited him in Germany
(and when he ditched me at a 5 story club in downtown Frankfurt on New Years
Eve). It was strange and nice to see him again, and though he was an
important part of my life for about 6-8 months, I was reminded why we broke up
and why that was a good decision all around.
Later on in the evening we went to a
dinner with my friend Anna, her coworkers, my friends from Fulbright/ Jordan
and Karim. This was also a strange moment, as it was an intersection between
so many periods in my life. Anna knew about Karim because I was dating him when
I spend 6 weeks with her in Egypt in 2006, and though I had more contact with
Anna over the years (meeting her in DC and NYC several times with other
students from our program), I knew Karim better and for longer, as I spent most
days of the last semester of my senior year driving 30 minutes from Waukesha
West High School to Kettle Moraine High School to pick him up after school and
spend the evening with him. Then add in the two girlfriends who I met
through Fulbright in Jordan. Somehow, the last 6 years of my life blended
together in a Middle Eastern city that I was visiting for the first time.
To add to the peculiarity of the
evening, we met at a lavish Argentinean grill where there was really
nothing on the menu for under $20. I ordered a meatless pasta dish and
nervously refused most side dishes and refills of champagne that Anna's
coworkers were generously pushing my way. By the end of the evening, and
after being unable to refuse the champagne, sides and subsequent three rounds
of shots, I was prepared to shell out something like $200 as my share of the
bill. But when the actual bill arrived at the table, Anna and her
coworkers immediately grabbed it and discussed what part of the $1000 tab each
one would " expense" to their work accounts. Oh, to be young
and a consultant.
Karim had called this one, as he said
that living in Dubai is all a show of who has money and power. He even
told me a story of being at a club and lamenting to his friend that he wasn't
getting any attention from the ladies. His fabulous friend responded to
him "Honey, you're not rich enough to be cute in this city."
I've heard before that life isn't a beauty pageant, but in Dubai
this phrase takes on a little bit of a different meaning.
Speaking of the money and power show,
we left dinner and headed to a club where I was quite certain my friends' and
my presence added to this show. We were invited to a private table with
bottle service by Anna's friend and when we arrived, we were the only girls
amongst the group. We were immediately offered drinks by "the
help," or in other words, a short and undoubtedly Brown man standing there
like a fly on the wall until he saw someone's drink was empty or someone empty
handed. I graciously accepted this offer, as I knew I wasn't paying.
We partied and danced on into the wee hours of the morning before we
hailed a cab back to our exorbitant hotel. For me, this was an exciting
break from the monotonous and quiet Jordanian nightlife. But to think,
this is every weekend for some people.
The next day we rose early
(read: 10 AM
) to visit the
tallest building in the world- the Burg Khalifa. At somewhere between
$20-25, the entrance fee was a little steep to cover a 3 minute elevator ride
and a walk around a glass room, but worth the experience I suppose. It's
only an incredible experience because of the incredible circumstances
surrounding you in that moment. First: you are in fairy tale city which
was built up from nothing in a matter of years. Second: you are on the 125th
floor of a building. Third: you look down and wonder how they keep this place
going, seeing the tops of other skyscrapers below you surrounded by perfectly
groomed parks, gardens, parking lots, pools and ponds, and knowing that is
sprang up out of a desert.
More than anything, the Burg Khalifa
is a symbol of Dubai's wealth, real or feigned. I believe it was Karim
who told me the story that it was supposed to be called "Burg Dubai"
until Dubai had to borrow money from Sheikh Khalifa of Abu Dhabi to complete its building.
And I can't remember where I read it, but Dubai's sheik or prince said
something to the effect of " We can't wait for the future to build the
future," which I guess means "We shall win in this international,
architectural dick-measuring contest even if it means we have to borrow money." But don't quote me on any of the last 3-4 sentences, as
I have zero sources to cite, though Wikipedia does agree with me on the first part.
For the rest of the weekend, my friends and I relaxed at the Park Hayatt's pool and went out for a low-key dinner in the Marina area. Overall it was fun to get away from the garbage-littered streets of Amman and into this fantasy land for a few days. Whether Dubai's wealth is real or fake, its a fun getaway for a weekend. If you ever wanted to know what it feels like to be rich and famous, Dubai is the place for you. ( Just bring either a large stash of money or several well-connected friends.)
And an after thought:
When it comes to places like this, and
many places in the Middle East in general, I question myself how I ever came to
be in place where I can do the things I do. It makes me question what I
have in the past purported as my beliefs and values. For example, I am
undoubtedly and completely against slavery and the subjugation of Brown and
once-colonized peoples. This is an idea which is very easy to write and
talk about in classes and to argue about with friends and family at holiday
gatherings. But when it comes to putting it in practice, it's a little more
difficult to hold true to. Because in today's world, things like slavery
and colonialism is not as flagrant as it maybe once was. Nobody is
physically forcing the Pakistani man to drive the taxi, but how much is he
getting paid for his work? Does he have time off? How often does he
see his family? What are his living conditions? I think it is fair
to say that Dubai was built on the backs of underpaid and overworked South
Asians who continue to be integral to the success of Dubai's tourism sector and
economy in general. I don't know the exact statistics on their living
conditions or their contributions to the economy but I think it is also fair to
say that that there is not a positive correlation between the two. So when
I am riding in these taxis, buying from the companies who legally hire these
workers, I am supporting these institutions which perpetuate a system of
indentured servitude and perhaps cultural and economic imperialism. It's
too easy to forget because it's fun to be served. And it's even more fun to be
served for cheap. But I suppose the true value of things cannot always be
determined by their price tag. It's cheap to me, but what has it cost
someone else?
