This is a random collection of musings from my first full week of travel. It feels like I’ve been on the road for about a month already, but suspect it’s a bit like summer: the first few days linger deliciously, time then passes like time-travel in a sci-fi film, and suddenly it’s time to go back to school again.
Travel light
First and foremost, I’m glad I packed light – it makes checking-out quick, and travelling much more pleasant. Also, when you arrive in a place, it’s not so obvious you’re a newbie. Most of the other packs I’ve seen make my back ache in sympathy.
Missing items
I haven’t found anything I’m missing yet, although I didn’t predict I’d need two outfits a day – it’s so hot that when you get back late afternoon, you need to shower and change before dinner. I’ve invested in some “Thai pants”: ankle-length, cotton, one-size-fits-all (and, for once, it seems to) trousers that will hopefully stop the mozzies having a field day with my legs. My lightweight camping mug would also be useful, and wouldn’t have added much weight/space as I could stuff things inside it.
Be organised
With four dry bags and a few pockets in my backpack, I’m really disciplined about where I store everything. Just throwing it into the main pack is tempting, but I need to know where everything is and be able to find it quickly.
Suncream
Superdrug Solait Baby Factor 50 suncream is seriously impressive. My soft Scandi skin (thanks, Mum 🙂 ) burns easily, but one application lasts all day, despite sweating profusely. A bit worrying that supplies are already getting low…
Chains
Chains: the chains attaching my wallet and phone to my bumbag are genius, though I say so myself (and thanks to Mum for making them for me 🙂 ). They not only stop me accidentally leaving them places, they deter any would-be thieves – it’s pretty difficult to nick any of my stuff without going through me first 😉 Oh, and on the Kwai bridge, someone next to me dropped their phone. We all held our breath as it wedged itself into the gap (just!) instead of falling through. No such worries here. And I don’t constantly worry whether I’ve got my phone like a usually do – the psychological relief is as important as the security aspect.
Dining
No problems with food so far – it’s served piping hot, so if anything’s survived, it deserves to! Also, they don’t clear your plates until you’ve actually gone, so it’s a more relaxing experience. And they’ve sussed spoon design:
Anti-hassle strategies
Walking down the pavement in the opposite direction to the oncoming traffic reduces the number of times drivers beep and shout “tuk-tuk?” at you. A t-shirt with the slogan “No tuk-tuk required” in various languages would be a best-seller.
Massage prices
These are the same all over the area. Sensible.
Smoking
Allowed in restaurants, it’s not actually a problem as it seems not many people smoke, and those who do deliberately sit on the “outside”. It’s appreciated, folks 🙂 Might be different in the bars, I guess – can’t comment 😉
Unofficial contracts are often stronger than official ones. Breaking the latter usually has a defined financial penalty that is clearly stated in writing, whereas breaking an unofficial contract jeopardises the fabric upon which it is built, with potential social, reputational and/or psychological implications. The agreement between Bangkok and its tourists seems to be: You shall not take advantage of the numerous opportunities to walk off without paying (because a £1.80 dinner bill is not worth negotiating the Thai legal system for); and we shall not overtly steal your stuff… but apart from that, you’re fair game including, but not limited to, gratuitous overcharging and luring you into compromising situations.
And so to “The Grand Palace” amidst cries of “tuk-tuk?” and “Where you going?” (the last word pronounced with only one syllable). It’s hot here, but I like to walk – you don’t just see more, you feel more. But it’s unusual… and it means you’re fodder.
I aborted the Grand Palace plan when I saw the throngs outside – inside could only be worse. It was already late (jet lag and a poor nights’ sleep having caught up on me) and I didn’t think I’d get round – it looked big. Postponed until tomorrow.
“Wat Pho” (Temple of the Reclining Buddha), on the other hand, was round the corner, smaller and open til 5:30. He’s big, he’s gold…
and he’s currently having a pedicure.
He was impressive, but not as much as the building he was in: intricate paintings, ornate with bling.
Many visitors buy a dish of coins, dropping a coin in each of a line of larger bowls along the wall. It’s for good luck. It’s amazing what people will do for “good luck”. I believe you make your own luck 😉
But it’s the diagrams and their associated medical descriptions for which the temple most respected. They form the basis of Thai massage and herbal medicine and are still referred to today.
The main Buddhist shrine was relatively calm, albeit with a touristy vibe.
Shoes off, and if you want to take them in with you, they have to be in a bag (feet are considered “dirty”, as opposed to the head which is revered – never touch a Buddhist’s head without permission). For females, shoulders and knees are to be covered (nothing mentioned about chesticles/cleavage though, which was odd), so there was a supply of shawls and skirts outside. I’d done my research and knew the etiquette… and then had totally forgotten. Wasn’t best pleased with myself (although, to be fair, I’d planned to visit the Grand Palace).
For men, anything goes (and did!).
A Buddha’s hat top, ears and hand position give away the era in which they were made. For example, this one is fairly recent as it has a pointed hat top (as opposed to more rounded), long curved ears (earlier versions’ are less exaggerated) and curved palms (not straight fingers):
And notably for a monastery, there weren’t many monks and very few natives. Decorations were ornate and impressive. Not my style, admittedly, but you don’t have to like something to be able to admire it 😉
Three things gave away that I was in a non-touristy area:
Only official signs were translated
Shop owners didn’t hassle me as I walked past (although I clearly wasn’t the target audience for the one selling twice life-size, spray-painted gold Buddhas)
Only a few tuk-tuks went past, and those that did were either carrying locals or didn’t shout at me
Starving – it was now 4:30 and I’d only had a slice of melon all day (afterwards, I realised, that I paid double the going rate for it – you can’t let it get to you, but it does leave a bad taste). Stopping at a stall with appetising fish cakes, I asked how much they were. “One is 5 baht (9p)”, she said, holding up a splayed hand. I nodded and said, “Three, please”, holding up three fingers. She hesitated, then gave me my lunch. She thought I was haggling with her! I realised as I sat and ate. If you, gracious lady, have the courtesy to quote a fair price, I will have the grace to accept. They were delicious.
I stumbled across Saranrom Park. London could learn a lot from Bangkok. Free, open-air gyms like this one were clearly well-used:
There was a fully equipped outdoor weights’ area, too. A running track round its circumference had a steady stream of walkers, plodders and runners and there were also activities for the more sedate:
And there was interesting wildlife (sorry, no bugs this time):
And here’s the “car park”:
On the way back into town, I stopped at a cashpoint as I was running low. What do you mean, transaction not authorised? Maybe it’s the machine. New machine, same message. Oh dear, oh dear. I started to work out whether I could survive on what I had left. Just, but I couldn’t actually do anything. Pants. Don’t panic, don’t panic, I thought. Perhaps it’s just coz you’re out of town and they’re not used to foreign cards.
“Where you from?”, Red Shirt asked. I’d arrived outside a temple.
“London*. Where you from?”
“Chiang Mai.” He proceeded to tell me about his holiday and warn me of pickpockets in the area. “It’s free after 6”, said White Shirt, coming to join us. I looked at my watch – it was 5pm. “That’s a long time to wait, I think I’ll just go in.”
“You see the big Buddha?” asked White Shirt.
“Wat Pho?”
“No Wat Pho,” he scoffed, “The Big Buddha. It is 45m high. I show you on map”. I handed it over and he drew a rectangle on it. “I take you there. Forty baht, and I bring you back here”. Right, so you’re offering to take me to an amazing temple that is not marked on any map, not mentioned in any guidebooks, happens to be open until 9pm (other temples seem to close to visitors at 6pm), is just out of town and you were able to pinpoint it without actually looking at my map? And despite the distance usually costing 150-200B, you’re offering to do it for 40B? What a lovely man… or an unscrupulous little sh*t. Despite a tendency (to a fault) of seeing the best in people, I concluded the latter and went into the temple. It later dawned on me that Red Shirt was similarly-intentioned but had been much more subtle – trying to build rapport and gain my trust, before suggesting something “not in my best interests”. I would never have got in a vehicle with either of them, but it shook me a little.
If Buddha was offended by my shoes and knees (no bags or skirts available), he didn’t show it. I’d like to think, however, that he liked the fact that in his temple I found very welcome respite to sit, think, cry, smile and wonder. How different this temple: the same ornate decoration, but peaceful. Only me, Buddha and a few natives. Oh, and quite a lot of monks about the place (no photo out of courtesy; I was fed up with being a tourist and felt the deal was two-way).
*It’s just easier – trying to explain more precisely is time-consuming and unnecessary. And I think I’m close enough to London to be fairly accurate. On a global scale, anyway.
Getting money was now top priority – if I couldn’t use my card I needed to think of Plan B fast. I had other options, of course, but they weren’t ideal.
Are you happy that we apply this grossly unfavourable exchange rate and also fleece you £3.92 for using this service?, the machine back in the tourist area asked.
Yes, very happy, very happy… JUST GIVE ME SOME MONEY!
It spewed out two high denomination bank notes (worth a grand total of about 40). I relaxed and went for another massage.
Later that evening I had to make a call to sort out some finances. I was worried – I’d received a text from Vodafone when I arrived in Bangkok saying, “Welcome to Thailand. As you’re in our Rest of World Zone it costs 80p/min to make a call and 75p/min to receive one.” It then detailed the text and data changes. But I thought I’d signed up to Vodafone World Traveller meaning I could pay 5GBP per 24-hour period to access my UK allowances. So why the text message? I was confused… and really concerned I’d return home to a huge bill. So I called Vodafone. It took a while – David confirmed I was signed up, but couldn’t confirm if/how I’d been billed the one time I’d used the service thus far. Eventually, he made a note on my account, then explained that I could use my UK allowance for 5GBP/day and recommended that I keep the text with the charges. “When you’ve run out of your allowance, these are the rates that you’ll be charged for making calls…”
“… err… I’m on an unlimited voice, text and data package.”
There was a pause. “You’ve just made my day,” he said.
Bangkok is as lush as Dubai was dry. That water is part of their way of life is no surprise. At the Damneok Saoeuk floating market, you can take a long boat down the watery streets where vendors tout their wares.
They use hooked poles to grab your boat as you sail past, but they’re not as insistent as those in Dubai, who border on aggressive: they present their wares and take “no thank you” for an answer (whoever came up with the phrase “take no for an answer” just wasn’t brought up proper, like what I was). Occasionally they stroke a mini guiro to attract your attention – it’s effective, polite and kind of relaxing all at the same time.
Like taxi drivers, it seems markets are the same the world over: a few different types of stall all selling the same thing. Most of it tat, but seemingly authentic tat. Great if that’s your thing, but I was content to go with the flow (well, I didn’t really have a choice being in a long boat without the paddle) and just enjoy being there.
Towards the end, we went round some of the more residential areas. Houses on stilts:
Raised “roads”:
A series of man-made canals supporting small communities:
Fascinating. Absolutely fascinating.
Further north is the “Death Railway”.
When allied forces prevented sea transportation between Thailand (then Siam) and Burma during the Second World War, the Japanese (who had relatively quickly and easily taken control of Siam) ordered a 250km railway to be built. It is estimated that 16,000 prisoners of war (POW) and 100,000 local Asians lost their lives during its construction (mostly due to disease, malnutrition and exhaustion). Hence its name. Three bridges were constructed across the River Kwai: two wooden, one iron. Apparently, POWs deliberately chose poor-quality, unseasoned wood to significantly reduce the structures’ lifespan (and one was clever enough to build eight radios that enabled them to keep up-to-date with the news).
The iron bridge was snaffled (not the official term) from Java and brought by barge to Kanchanaburi where POWs re-assembled it.
The associated “Gallery and War Museum” was eclectic, informative, fascinating… and empty (a phenomenon explained using a variation of Pareto’s 80/20 rule: 80% of people don’t venture more than 20 metres from the car park).
Some things were lost in translation:
And others required some imagination. For instance, who is this?
Go on, have a guess – the uniform surely gives it away 😉
Answer: Winston Churchill.
Somewhat inexplicably, the “Miss Thailand Directory” also occupied the building:
As well as the main title, there were (are?) prizes for “Miss Photogenic”, “Miss Beautiful Face”, “Miss Beautiful Hair” and “Miss Outstanding Swimsuit” (I reckon I could contend this last one as I have an extensive collection, some quite unique… as long as I don’t have to actually wear it).
Also in the building were fine examples of “The World’s Minerals” and a rather uninspiring exhibition celebrating the souls lost in a war with Burma during C18/19. I skipped the “Museum of Archaeology, Stamps, Money, Watches”, but felt I’d got my money’s worth (entrance fee: 71p).
Two other, random things now follow. The toilets were, um, not for the immobile:
And the ants were gigantic:
Back on the bus for the 2-hour return journey to Bangkok after a really, really enjoyable, informative and interesting (and, I have to mention, very slickly-organised) day 🙂
In my head, it’s still yesterday; a day is not over until I’ve slept.
Executive summary: I really like Bangkok.
Main report: This is a relief as I’d been a little concerned about personal security and avoiding the sex tourism. I needn’t have worried – it feels relatively safe and I think to partake in the latter you have to be a) looking for it and b) know what you’re looking for. Which I don’t. Perhaps it would be different if I was a man. But I’m not, so brain has moved on.
Getting the metro (85p) was easy and welcoming, but I had to wait ages for the bus to turn up to take me into the heart of the place. I was sat at the side of a slip road on to one side of a dual carriageway. Below are some photos of the vehicles that passed me. All were taken from the same position – can you spot the odd one out?
It would appear that direction of travel is merely a suggestion rather than a rule!
Glad I waited for the bus. Travelled with the locals into town (about 17p):
.. and then stopped at a street cafe for some food. Between serving, the waitresses prepared vegetables and fruit for the kitchen that was situated on the street (with the seating at the back).
My vegetable noodle soup was fresh, delicious, piping hot and cheap (89p).
The “house rules” of my hotel say more about the place than I ever could:
It might be the rebel in me, but I rather like the idea of being a “room pirate”. And I wondered if non-severe smoking was allowed (tee-hee!).
But the hotel is adequate for my needs and I have to admit that I feel more comfortable (psychologically-speaking!) here. I’m really glad I decided to stay in the backpacker area rather than in the (business-oriented) city centre: it’s alive and easy and fun.
Decided to plan my 3.5 days here: glad I did. Advice was that the floating market (about 90 mins from Bangkok) was best at the weekend, so I’ve booked a tour for tomorrow. Will visit the temples independently on Mon. Ok, so I only planned two days, but that’s an improvement, right?
Thai massage is world-renowned. It’s justified. In just 30 mins she kindly but firmly coaxed the stress out of me. And there were no signs of, er, “extra services” so I think there must be two kinds of establishment.
All the eateries I’ve seen have looked very good – I think you’d genuinely struggle to find a bad meal here. “Pad Thai” is a must-try. It was very good, but eclipsed by the “tom yam soup”. Even better, I am pleased to confirm that it was not dissimilar to my own (but I was taught by the best, CH 😉 ) but with more richness and depth of flavour. I’d like to think this is because of the ingredients, rather than the cook, though…
Every time we eat together, I ask CH to re-teach me to use chopsticks, which she kindly and patiently does only for me to fail miserably. Again. But something must have clicked because I swiftly polished off the Pad Thai with chopsticks. They really are the best tool for the job (except, obviously, soup) as you can easily pick specific bits out of the pile of nosh and the leftover grains of rice – try doing that with a fork!
“So, what else is there to do in Abu Dhabi apart from the Grand Mosque and Ferrari World?”
“Nothing… that’s all.”
Cars aren’t my thing and a three-hour round trip to see the Grand Mosque didn’t seem worth it, so I booked a late check out and gave myself the day off*.
I’d been debating whether to travel from Bangkok to Siem Reap (Cambodia) by bus or plane. Flying seemed “not in the spirit of the game” but had three distinct advantages:
It’s a lot quicker
Immigration would be easier (I’d heard reports that the border is a haven for scams, but many said it was easy)
It meant I wouldn’t pass through a higher-risk malaria zone
Whilst I didn’t have the energy for more tourist hassling, it was this last one that really clinched it – antimalarials can have awful side effects during and after treatment, so whilst I was keen to protect myself, I also wanted to minimise the amount I took. As Siem Reap and my potential next destination (Phnom Penh) were low-risk areas, it meant I could delay treatment for some time. Afterwards, I realised that the additional cost of flying was also partly offset by this delay – a daily tablet is £1.39 and treatment is required 2 days before, during and 7 days after exposure. Research also confirmed that there were lots of other opportunities during my planned route to use bus, boat and train.
A quick workout in the hotel gym followed by a leisurely swim was a lovely way to finish my visit – I feel I’ve “done” Dubai.
I’m usually keen to try new things (c.f. this trip!), but the Indian restaurant was so good I returned. It then occurred to me that I might have struck lucky. I needn’t have worried – apart from the rice, I had little idea what I ordered, but it was all superb (especially the “raigan masala” whose main feature was a ball made of what I think was an unusual cross between mashed and crumbed potato).
Then the metro to the airport. The metro itself is worth a mention. In comparison to the Tube where I rarely wait more than 4 mins for a train, usually only 2, it’s not as frequent (but 6-7 mins isn’t a major problem). It also seems to be an after-thought with only two main lines, leaving much of the city unserviced, with stations sometimes quite a distance from the main action. For example, it takes a good 15 mins to walk from “Dubai Mall metro station” to the actual mall. That’s like calling a station “Waterloo” but kicking you out at Covent Garden. But it’s fast, efficient and clean (no eating or drinking is allowed). And bar three stations, it’s all overground so the views are much better 😉
The day after my initial experience (see Day 2), I entered a carriage and quickly realised there were lots of females. An event maybe? Or just the time of day? Moments into my search for a male, I spotted the pink signs on the door – a women/children-only carriage. Ah, that would explain all the men that day – the women were here! On the way home from the concert, the metro was packed and I couldn’t be bothered to leg it down the platform to the pink carriage. I was also curious. Whatever happens, I thought, just chalk it up to experience. As before, the men’s faces gave away that their first thought upon seeing me was “female”, but then looked away. It was only when I was about to disembark that I noticed that, despite the crowds, nobody was physically touching me – like an invisible circle (of respect? Of fear of being accused?) around me. Mind you, it could also have been that I ponged as I hadn’t showered since that morning and it’s hot – you start glistening moments after stepping out of the air conditioning.
Pink taxis, with a female driver, also exist (I’m not sure whether a man can take these; I assume so). I’m in two minds about this: on the one hand, and as another traveller’s taxi driver opined, women could be seen to be “privileged” by these services; on the other hand, it never occurred to me that there would be gender-specific transportation because I’ve never felt the need for it. I’ll leave you to decide…
And so I left Dubai. Glad I went, glad to leave. It was hot, dusty, superficial, artificial, fast, high, efficient, clean, welcoming and safe. Dubai personified is a twelve-year-old boy (trying to impress his mates): old enough to have a sense of self, but not yet mature enough to realise it’s not the destination that’s important, but the journey. I feel like saying to it: “Yes, ok, you can win. Can we just play now, please?”. Like people, all places are unique, defined by their history, culture, environment, nature, experience. It doesn’t yet realise that it doesn’t have to be the best, fastest, highest and biggest, it just needs to be itself. But perhaps that’s exactly what it’s doing.
* Can you have a day off when you’re on holiday? Surely they’re all days off?! But there’s an invisible pressure to do stuff. Or perhaps I’m just a diligent tourist. Either way, it’s giving myself explicit permission to not do anything.
A nice, relaxing morning in my suite (!) before realising that tomorrow is holy day so my mosque visit may be difficult without sudden religious enlightenment and a full makeover – nuts! Better go today, then.
“How much to Jumeira Mosque?”
“No problem.”
I repeated the question.
“Yes, don’t worry about it. Get in.”
Tried again. “Don’t worry, I will look after you.”
“How much?”
There was a hesitation and that nodding/shaking of the head Indian people do, which is the equivalent of our “errr… ummm ” (note: I’ve learnt this over years of working with (mostly very good) Indian/Pakistani developers -they’re not saying no, they’re just thinking).
“Fifty dirhams”.
This is twice the going rate. Some things are the same the world over.
I agreed 25 AED with the next driver. It was after we’d pulled away that he mentioned the mosque was closed in the afternoon. Pants – scuppered again. Decided to head to the mall (after declining the driver’s offer to take me to Abu Dhabi instead).
Mosied (is that a proper word?) round the mall. The Aquarium was fascinating (I especially liked the rays, who were lapping up the attention):
Seemed pretty crowded in there, though…
Inadvertently found myself in the high-end fashion atrium (which was virtually empty):
Found signs of better things to come and thought of you, Mum (if it had been open, I’d have holed up there for the afternoon with a bottomless drink gradually eating my way through the menu):
And then headed for the Burj Khalifa…
Finished in 2010 and taking six years to construct, the Burj Khalifa is the tallest (828 metres) man-made structure in the world. The title was previously held by a TV mast in North Dakota, which actually sounds quite dull so a record worth breaking at least. And BK beats it by a considerable margin, too (828m vs 628.8m):
(Note: the two other structures were finished before BK).
As previously mentioned, Dubai loves it’s superlatives, so let’s get them out of the way now:
highest observation deck in the world (floor 148)
fastest lift (from ground level to floor 124 in 58s = 9 km/h)
highest occupied floor
The first 39 floors are the Armani hotel, then lots of apartments and then business lets. Oh, and there’s a restaurant in there somewhere, too. And it’s not a tower, it’s a “vertical city”.
The design is based on a three-pronged desert flower (the shape of its footprint) and a mosque (but I never found out how). Its 24,380 panes of silver-coated glass (that minimise heat retention) take a team 3 months to clean.
So far so good. And then I notice this line:
“Cathodic protection against aggressive chlorides and sulphates ensures a minimum lifespan of 100 years.”
What?! It cost $1.5b and it could fall down in someone’s lifetime (not mine, admittedly). That could be why they’re planning a taller one, apparently… along with a bigger ski slope and mall (I’ve also heard rumours of a covered, air-conditioned beach. Oh my lordy Lord).
Normal tickets take you to floor 124. But I’m not a normal kinda gal, so got a SKY ticket to floor 148. It was definitely worth it, not just for the views but because you could actually see them as there were no crowds (oh, and skipping the long queues both going up and down).
So, here are the money shots:
Cool fact: if you can asend to the top observation deck in 3 minutes (which is possible), you can watch the sunset twice: once at ground level and again at floor 148.
Spent over an hour at the top (no, I’m not sure, either – just sitting and watching the sun go down, I think).
It was serene (due in large part to the lack of crowds), but I’m not convinced the extra 24 floors made a massive difference to the view itself. I was lucky enough to go up New York’s twin towers and the effect was very similar. And whilst 828m is pretty high, let’s not forget that it’s eclipsed by lots of natural “structures” so I’ve been higher! Definitely one of the highlights of my visit, though.
As I’m typing this on my phone (hotel’s PCs aren’t working), I’ll sum up my opinion of the subsequent Spandeau Ballet as follows: fairly enjoyable, tight, well-rehearsed, catchy tunes (I even recognised two of them)… but not exceptional musicians and songs fairly samey. Mind you, they were following my BK visit, and the last music gig I saw were Punch Brothers so they were up against pretty tough competition.
Picking up the others from their hotels showed how this place is a “work in progress”. Building is going on everywhere, with spotless buildings right next to dusty, open spaces.
Mahmoud was a much better guide.
Some info (none of it validated)
Dubai’s population is about 9 million. Of these, only 19% are “natives” (who enjoy free housing, education, healthcare, etc, and are recognised by their long white (men) and black (women) robes), over 2 million are Indian, and the rest represent 200 different nationalities. This could explain why Indian food is “typical” (with only one restaurant serving the traditional food: camel) – there is no cuisine to speak of and food reflects the cultural diversity of the population.
You can get a work visa for 2 years (if you’ve been offered a job), which you can renew. The only foreign females granted citizenship are those who marry a native man.
Burj al-Arab
What makes the Burj al-Arab worth 7-stars (in someone’s book, anyway) is that:
– it consists only of duplex suites: one per floor, with each having their own reception
– guests are collected by Rolls Royce from the airport and dropped at the escalator for their floor. Yes, each floor has its own escalator because stopping at other people’s is such a pain
– rooms are guilded with gold (surely, there’s a temptation to scratch it off, but praps that’s just me!)
– for those for whom a Rolls Royce is beneath them, they can land their helicopter on the pad on the roof
This is not an exhaustive list, I’m sure. But if you’ve got a spare 1,000 GBP (per night) then I’m sure you can find more information on their website. I wonder how they feel about not having the “most expensive hotel room” badge? Apparently, this honour belongs to Atlantis where the presidential suite will set you back a cool 40,000 USD, according to my (somewhat unreliable) boat guide.
Dubai museum
Described as “small but interesting” by Mahmoud, this was the highlight of my trip. It charted the rise and rise of Dubai, which can be summed up as follows:
1920/30s: As an important port, building around the creek started; infrastructure works commence
1940/50s: Continuing building, hampered by cultured pearls (natural pearls were one of Dubai’s natural resources) and WWII
1960s: Bingo – oil is discovered! They start to reap the benefits of the infrastructure programmes and things start to seriously take off
1970s onwards: bigger, higher, better, dearer…
It’s not difficult to remember that Dubai didn’t “exist” until 1972, when seven states (each with a different ruler) were brought together. In reality, modern Dubai has been around for maybe 70 or 80 years, and the culture of the Bedouin people seems to be unimportant to them in day-to-day life. So it was a pleasant surprise that the museum offered a rich insight into their heritage and culture. Traditional summer houses (called Al Arish) had ingenious wind towers that channeled the breeze into the house no matter which way it was coming from:
Spice market
Took dhows across the Creek to Bur Diera where I was harassed by every single little shop owner. Not relaxing. But still not threatening. In fact, when I returned early to the meeting point and asked my latest harasser, very politely, if he would please leave me alone (please?), he suddenly looked very concerned and offered me a seat. See, I told you they were lovely people 🙂
We also visited Jumeira Mosque (but didn’t go in) and Dubai Mall. I’ve the Burj Khalifa visit booked for tomorrow, so more on that then.
Chatting to my taxi driver on the way back. He’s Pakistani. His family lives in Pakistan and he’s been here for seven years. He sees them once a year, alternating between them visiting Dubai, and him going home. It’s too expensive for them to all live in Dubai, so he works here and sends money home. A shot of reality in the midst of this “paradise”.
Found it, found it!
Tired of the tourist trail, I headed in the opposite direction from my hotel, on the guidance of my taxi driver. And I found the real Dubai. It’s new, shabby, bustling and alive. As the only westerner I saw all evening, everybody looked… but nobody stared.
Two of the other things that struck me when I arrived were the cars (thousands and thousands of them and all very clean; Mahmoud mentioned the £40 fine for dirty cars, which would explain that!) and the emptiness. Deserted streets, vacant shops. That it takes so long to get anywhere here explains the cars. The heat explains the emptiness. When the sun goes down, the place comes alive. Every bench by the roadside becomes filled with locals, meeting, chatting, smoking. And not just the youngsters but organised “mothers’ meetings”, a father with his young child, old men sharing a smoke.
Crossing the main arterial road, you can feel you’re in a different part of town. I stumbled across a vegetarian Indian restaurant. I’ve always favoured gut instinct over TripAdvisor, and I got a good vibe about this place: vegetarian (I understand most Indians eat veggie), full of locals, busy staff. I went in. I was the only westerner in there. Nobody noticed me. That the service was fast, efficient, almost impatient was a breath of fresh air. I surveyed the menu – no descriptions, just lists and prices – and realised that, bar the odd word, I had no idea what any of it was. Thali, can’t go wrong with a thali. I pointed to the dish, the waiter wrote it down and promptly walked off.
I like curry. A lot. This was one of the best I’ve had.
Three courses. Total bill: £3. Yes, really. I told you I’d found the real Dubai 🙂
And when I’d finished, I walked out. Nobody seemed to notice me arrive. No one noticed me leave. Invisible, in a good way. Suddenly the heat seemed friendlier and whilst it was still illuminated and in-your-face, this part of town felt more real.
A three-night stopover in Dubai. As it’s not my kind of place, I’d never come here for a holiday, so a three-night stopover was the perfect opportunity to see it… and then move on.
Initial observations about Dubai… Firstly, everything is shiny and new. Quite a lot of it is not yet finished. It’s like the playground of someone with a construction habit and ADHD. And a lot of money.
Sister (who used to live here) suggested a boat tour from the marina before I was able to check into my hotel. I decided to get the metro and the second thing struck me: men. Of the 200 or so people who I saw during my journey, I counted just 5 females, and 4 of these were western. Yet at no point have I felt uncomfortable or intimidated. Media portrayal of some Middle Eastern countries is one of huge gender inequality, yet I have seen no evidence of this so far. When I got off the metro to walk to the marina the third thing struck me: the heat. OMG, the heat. Not the warm, friendly, “wet” heat of Florida (I will remember forever the first time I stepped off the minibus and the world gave me what I can only describe as a warm, welcoming hug), but fierce, intense hotness.
Stopped for lunch at a deli, and got a “fruit and veg salad”. I won’t be posting all my meals (it’s not Facebook, you know 😉 but those that stand out. It was a delicious combination of fruit and veg that I’ve never seen in the UK: three colours of sweet pepper, coriander, cucumber, raw onion and various types of melon (topped off with a satay chicken stick).
Today was a day of firsts. It was the first time I’ve been to the Middle East. This is something I’d like to do again. It was the first time I’ve been to Dubai. This is something I could do again, with sufficient motivation. Today was also the first time that I’ve been on a speed boat. This is something I could quite happily never do again. It’s not that I didn’t enjoy it – on the contrary, it was actually good fun. But it was a dissatisfying mode of transport – too much, too fast. It didn’t help that the skipper seemed to be on a speed trip, and it was only the knowledge that, being a strong swimmer, I could fend for myself if tipped overboard, that enabled me to relax. The boat trip was a great way to get a sense of the place, though. For such a new city, I was intrigued as to what we’d see. Answer: hotels. Our “guide” pointed out all the hotels and their owners, but didn’t seem to know a lot about them. For instance, the amazing thing about Atlantis is that it exists. It’s big and has a water park, but apart from that, I struggled to see why he’d picked this one out of the plethora of hotels on the shoreline. He even insisted he take our pictures:
I also saw the Burj al-Arab (the world’s only 7-star hotel, although our guide couldn’t tell me what I’d get for my extra stars), and various palaces of Dubai’s rich and royal. And lots of superlatives – Dubai is desperate to have the biggest, tallest, most expensive, of everything. Everyone seems to competing against each other, but this makes for an interesting skyline.
Back on dry land, the hotel looked like a short walk from the metro station. I remembered MC’s advice: “Find a pace you’re comfortable with and just keep going.” I would also have done well to heed another piece of his advice: “Walk in the right direction.”
Forty-five minutes later I finally stumbled (literally) up the stairs to the hotel and flopped into the chair in front of the desk. I must have looked a state because the receptionist looked at me and said, “Upgrade.”
“Huh?”
“I’m going to upgrade you.”
Oooh, I thought, that’d be good. I’d quite like to be able to make myself invisible.
Turns out she meant she’d upgrade the room, which was also good. I was hoping for a bath (I like baths). I got a one-bedroom flat. The place is bigger than my pad back home. I have a fully-equipped kitchen, a lounge and a dining room. I’m not kidding. An upgrade…and I didn’t even have to mention my three pairs of pants 😉
Sister (did I mention she used to live here?) had suggested “any of the Indian places in the Food Court of the Dubai mall”. So in the evening I took the hotel transfer and arrived at the biggest mall in the world. Dubai mall in one word: bling. Serious bling.
The Food Court had everything: Chinese, Thai, Italian, fish n’ chips, Lebanese, KFC, Japanese, frozen yoghurt, ice cream, and even a chocolate fountain. The Indian did me well, and I decided that I might only travel to places that my sister has lived. This may be somewhat limiting, so I may extend it to places that someone I know has lived.
At 9:15pm I asked for directions to the metro station. He pointed and said “Down there, left at Bloomingdale’s and then right at the next junction.” Based on that description, I thought it’d be about 10 minutes. Five minutes later, I figured I’d missed Bloomingdale’s. How can I miss Bloomingdale’s?, I wondered, but anything is possible with my sense of direction. Fifteen minutes later I reached Bloomingdale’s. It was another 10 minutes before I actually exited the mall and another 20 minutes before I arrived at the metro station. This place is big. Dubai is big. It takes forever to get anywhere. I eventually got back to my hotel at 10:45pm. An hour and a half to travel 9km.
I really wanted to like this place for what it was. But it’s almost a parody of itself, the sibling of a high-achiever that feels they’ve always got something to prove. It tries too hard, desperate to be accepted. Do I regret stopping over? Absolutely not. But I think I’m going to be glad to move on. Yet some people love it – many of the people I’ve met are very proud of their city. Another example of “horses for courses” – as someone who prefers natural over man-made, stealth over speed, experiences over possessions, the odds of me liking the place were stacked against. But Dubai has two major things going for it, and both are significant: the people I’ve met have been, without exception, absolutely charming. Not forced, not to get something from me, but in a genuine, friendly way. And I feel safe. Walking home from the metro last night, I felt safe. And, in my book, that counts for a lot.
“So,” I asked Sister (a frequent flyer), “how do I go about asking for an upgrade?”
“Tell them you’re getting married”, said her husband.
“What? Even though I’m travelling by myself?”
“Yeah, it’s just you don’t know who to yet… because you haven’t met them. You might meet them on the plane.”
“Say to them,” says Sister, “‘I’ve three pairs of pants. I’m feeling lucky. How about an upgrade?”
She then mentioned that, despite being a frequent flyer, she hasn’t actually ever been upgraded. Funny that! 😉
Travelling light, I didn’t have much to pack, which made leaving the house scarily uneventful. Big Bro waited patiently, and again in the car whilst I tried to remember what I’d forgotten. Arriving at Heathrow, my adventure suddenly felt real for the very first time. I’ve never been to Asia, so it’s difficult to imagine what’s in store. But big adventures don’t happen like that, they unfold moment by moment. So I found the piano and amused myself until departure.
