or
All the World’s a Mall and All the Men and Women Merely Shoppers
by Josh
After watching the baggage carousel make its long torturous circuit for the hundredth time it became apparent I was not going to be changing my clothes any time soon. Air Swiss would later tell me my bag fell off a conveyor belt in Zurich. But they were unsure. The bag would not show up in Dubai for two more days.
As compensation for this inconvenience I was awarded a micro emergency toiletry kit outfitted with toothpaste, a shower cap, and a nail file. This was swathed in an XXL Air Swiss t-shirt and presented to me in a commemorative tote bag.
I’m not entirely sure what they planned for me to do with this consolation prize. Every item was missing its mate. Toothpaste without a brush. A shower cap and no shampoo. A nail file without a good reason for being included in an emergency toiletry kit.
More tube than paste really.
Worst though was the complete absence of deodorant. It was over 90 degrees when I landed. It reached 120 the following day.
So please understand that my initial impressions of Dubai were perhaps a little negatively clouded as I was walking around sweaty, stinky, and it was getting hotter and hotter.
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Allow me the first of probably many departures in this post. I’ll try to stick to the narrative but I’ll wander into general observation from time to time. Your forgiveness please.
Alright: Dubai is a study in contrasts. Everywhere you look you are confronted with a fusion of eastern and western culture. The Starbuck menu in Arabic. The burqa meets the mall. McDonalds and the mosque.
The western influence in Dubai takes the form of skyscrapers and unbridled pathological consumerism. But despite the western edifices littering the landscape, the vastness of the desert cannot be ignored. Between every building and every road is a barren sandscape. Because of this Dubai was shrouded in a dirty haze during my entire visit.
Looking into town from my hotel
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Though it was night when I left the airport, I could still see the dust shroud, with the distant skyscrapers dimly penetrating the haze. The hotel’s shuttle driver was waiting in the drop off area, holding a sign with my name on it. He was flanked by dozens of others with placards bearing the names of my fellow travelers. This was my introduction to a hallmark of the Dubai experience – anything purchased must be advertised.
The hotel was sympathetic to my luggageless plight and was able to sort me out with a proper survival kit. The speed and efficiency with which the items were produced showed it was a well practiced routine. I was certainly not the only unfortunate traveler to take on the Emirati sun sans deodorant.
Now equipped with my essential creature comforts, I was prepared to settle into my work routine. There is nothing really remarkable to say about the work so I’ll leave it brief. We were a ten-nationed group of twelve and in one week, we knocked out what we needed to knock out. After every workday we ventured out into the Dubai night, for food and unfortunately the mall.
The buildings encountered on our nightly sojourns fell into three main categories. Hotels, malls, and hotel-mall hybrids. There was the occasional strip mall and office building sprinkled in but these were virtually deserted. So once we left our hotel, you can do a little process of elimination and find out where we ended up.
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But before launching into the malls, I’ve got to talk food. Because it was fucking delicious.
Our first night we ate Iranian – phenomenal stuff. The most succulent lamb I’ve ever eaten. Lentils, hummus, tabouleh, and for dessert faludeh – an ice cream noodle dish topped with saffron and rosewater. Better for its novelty than its actual taste.
It actually is ice cream noodles.
As long as we stayed away from the mall, excellent food was abundant. Lebanese was the favorite – very similar to the Iranian but with greater variety of salads. One that was particularly noteworthy was made of peppers and tomatoes with fried pita like chips and a light vinaigrette. But tabouleh was king. Fresh and amazing.
Even at the malls we were still able to eat well. Some decent sushi one night and Italian another. The only thing that was regrettable was the complete lack of alcohol at most establishments. Islam drives the boozing into the clubs, far away from where decent folk might be subjected to it.
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Okay, now for the malls. You can’t really think of these things like their American counterparts. The scale and variety is very different beast. Things you can find in a Dubai mall: a museum, a bowling alley, an aquarium, a camel petting zoo, a gold and diamond market, The Gap, fine dining and of course McDonalds.
In regards to size, Dubai is home to the world’s largest mall, 5km long with four floors. But this isn’t the only behemoth. Nearly every mall I entered dwarfed those I had seen in America. Multiple floors, miles of store front.
All the trappings of labels and other obscene excesses are on display in Dubai. Spend obscene amounts and let everyone know that you did it.
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My first foray into the mallscape came after the delicious Iranian dinner, which technically was in a mall as well, though a local would probably characterize it differently. I didn’t get a chance to confirm, but I’m guessing with the locals it’s an Eskimo-snow phenomenon. Hundreds of different words to capture all the subtle mallish differences.
Anyway, my first mall was of the hotel-mall combo variety. It was situated along the beach and nestled between those absurd man-made islands in the shape of palm trees. I’m just going to leave that topic alone. Suffice to say, I am not a fan.
This mall was done in the style of an old Arabic bazar. The architecture was quite nice and almost tricked one into believing it was an establishment of grace and culture. Until you saw a guy hawking cheap hookas out in front of a Banana Republic.
There were two features of this mall that were unassailably cool. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said about any other mall I visited. But I cannot honestly say that the malls of Dubai were devoid of something redeeming because of these two things:
One – this junk shop.
Time for a treasure hunt
Two – there was a man who would take your picture while you held his falcon.
Go Mordecai!!
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Three more mall items before I say a few nice things about Dubai.
One: malls were overrun by child hordes that were loosely tended by a pack of burqa clad women and a few men in traditional robes who were far more interested in window-shopping Gucci than disciplining their spawn. This would go on until midnight or later, something I was told is quite common.
Two: at one of the malls there was a Hannah Montana style performance going on in a large courtyard area. The stage was flanked by two large and animatronic camels that swayed to the music. There was a large crowd.
Three: I saw a woman in a burqa shopping at Forever 21.
And now the complimentary portion of our tour.
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I found that the greatest fun Dubai had to offer was hopping into a cab. I got a front row seat for conversation and driving exploits each night out as my female colleagues were not permitted to ride shotgun. They probably would have had difficulty getting some of these guys to take them at all had they not been chaperoned. But each trip, I flagged one down and we all piled in for the carnival ride.
Breaking was definitely not a favored maneuver, more of a situation to be greeted with indignation and honking. In Dubai I learned that most traffic situations can be solved by rapid acceleration and liberal use of the horn. Also, sidewalks and shoulders accommodate a car as easily as a bike or pedestrian.
And though it was fucking frightening at times, there was an elegance to driving in Dubai that reminded me of a ballet. One where the dancers railed an eight ball backstage and were directed to scream at anyone who danced too close to them.
More than anything, negotiating traffic seemed sexual for these guys. There were pleasurable sighs and sparkling eyes when they outjockeyed a rival cab or edged out a rival.
My favorite driver would derisively announce the nationality of all competitors bested, often while doing something brazenly illegal to pass them. This guy could identify the home country of any driver by arcane subtleties imperceptible to me. “Ahh, this one here, an Indian bastard. Did you not see how he merged?”
He was also a fount of knowledge about the city but seemed to doubt my ability to comprehend his tour guide proclamations. “You see this building here, this is high court. You know this word, court? No, you don’t know.”
And then we would continue to converse, me speaking with what I hope was a passable English, until the next point of interest caught his attention. “You see this tower here? World Trade Center. Original building of Dubai. You know this? No, friend. Not tower of New York. This is Dubai."
All in all, a first rate tour.
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Though many of Dubai’s buildings were tacky Vegas imports, two were quite impressive. Surprisingly, the Burj Arab, the wind sail, was quite a spectacular building. The pictures I had seen never did it for me but in person it was great.
I do appreciate the irony of providing a picture in light of my previous statement.
The other pleasant surprise was the Burj Khalifa, the world’s tallest building. The building really has an elegance despite its monstrous size.
One night out with the work gang, we took a tour of the building, ending at the observation deck on the 140th floor. Here are a couple shots from 700m up.
Directly beneath the tower was a lighted fountain show. Pretty spectacular.
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My final night in Dubai I was determined to find something authentically Middle Eastern amidst the hazy Vegas like mirage. I dragged out a few of my colleagues and walked the wharf heading toward the Gold Souk. Despite the oppressive heat, we made it by seeking refuge in the occasional air conditioned phone booth.
The spice trade along the wharf.
The Gold Souk was all I hoped it could be. Bustling and seedy. Hot and dirty. Street barkers called out to you and likely pickpockets roamed the alleys. Fake bags and watches were the special of the day. The scene was actually a welcome contrast to the hermetically sealed mall compounds.
The wares.
However my companions did not feel the same way. About 30 minutes of walking around and they were hailing a cab. Before leaving work that day, our local colleagues had given the address of a beach front bar to one of the girls I was with, so out it came and off we went. Everything appeared to be in order.
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We headed in the direction of the coast but it soon became apparent that we were driving too long. To my horror I realized we were pulling into the parking structure of another fucking mall. Such a great joke! The girls were quite pleased with themselves, while I was busy steeling myself for another run through the gauntlet.
About twenty steps into the mall I was greeted with this:
It was over one hundred degrees outside.
It was time to leave.
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At the airport with an hour to kill, I perused the gift shops, looking for something to bring Emily. And there, in my final minutes in Dubai I found the perfect symbol for the sweltering desert megalopolis. Perched above a sign proudly proclaiming it was handmade by orphaned children sat a camel, spattered with garish blues and pinks, wearing a top hat, and festooned with dollar bills.
