DESERT DELIGHTS
The first thing that strikes you about this place is that it has ambition. It’s like a giant construction site with people living in it. So far it boasts the world’s tallest sky scraper, some of the fanciest shopping malls and best hotels. The parts that are built are pretty impressive but you get the feeling that the whole place still has a long way to go before it becomes the next Hong Kong, New York or London. Yet, I somehow feel that it lacks the culture or character to ever match any of them. The next Las Vegas on sea perhaps – minus the gambling of course (it’s forbidden).
And therein lies the intriguing contradiction that characterises this Emirate. There are three distinct classes within society. The bottom – mostly comprised of south Asian labourers, the Middle – expats who spend most of their time getting drunk and blabbering about how much money they make, and the top – the Arab sheikhs who control the place. The three seldom interact and largely live in worlds of their own but woe betide anyone that acts out of line in the presence of the class above – there is usually hell to pay.
With ten days to take out from the busy day job in twenty four hour news I figured Dubai would be a more relaxing spot to unwind than my alternative destination, Tokyo. It was relaxing, but that was largely because the place didn’t really have that much to see. I don’t know about you, but there is only so much time I can spend in a nightclub, shopping mall or beach before I want to see something of substance. Sadly Dubai isn’t renowned for its museums or art galleries.
So, ashamedly, I confess that most of my time was spent with the middle group (the expats) touring the city’s night clubs and restaurants. Partying in Dubai is somewhat akin to drinking amongst a swarm of bankers in London’s Liverpool Street on a Friday night. Conversation is dominated by who drives what, who lives where and how long “will that stupid fu#!%*g waiter be” with the next bottle of overly priced champagne – usually in front of a group of easily impressed air hostesses on a short stop in the city. This time the bankers are replaced by property brokers. Personal connections are all important as most of the seemingly constipated club door men say no to half the people at the entrance – especially men. At weekends the fun and games start as early as mid day at all you can eat and drink brunches – which basically mean £70 per person for a copious medley of cocktails for about four hours. At £10 a drink in bars and clubs you’re likely to blow £200 per night – if, of course, you drink as much as me.
If you are happy to blow the money there are a number of other things you can do. The desert safari is a must and pretty good value for money at around £100 per person, including food. While you’re out in the desert try quad biking in the sand dunes - £90 will get you fifteen minutes. You can also go skiing on the world’s biggest indoor real snow ski slope but beware; just an official photograph of the experience is about £25. Or there is the water park in the opulent Atlantis hotel - £60 plus £10 to use a locker.
The verdict: Nice, albeit expensive, short break but don’t spend more than three days there and be prepared to hear a lot of expat brits do a lot of bulls**ting.
