I arrive at sunrise. 4.55am to be exact. With the borders only recently opened it seems illicit to be here — to be out of New Zealand. I feel worried I won’t get in because of Covid-19 (even though my negative rapid antigen test assures me I will), or worse, Covid will stop me returning home. But as the customs officer nods me through my fears melt away, particularly as I hear that melodic sound of the call to prayer echoing around the airport. It sounds soothing and hypnotic. It sounds like a welcome.
Earlier, during landing, I’d looked out of the window and seen the glow of highways surging together like arteries. But now, outside in the city itself, the area is covered in a cloak of fog and I can’t see anything except the road directly in front of me — certainly not the skyscrapers I’ve heard so much about. I’ve come to Dubai (the city known for being a modern oasis in the heart of the Arabian desert) for three days — just long enough to scrape the surface of what’s available to do in this bustling metropolis. The city itself (home to over three million people) is the most heavily populated in the United Arab Emirates, and has completely transformed from its origins as a fishing village into a modern metropolis with some of the most innovative wonders in the world. That said, it’s a Muslim country and women must adhere to the standards of dress, covering their shoulders and legs (to below the knee). While the rules are generally more relaxed at hotels, when out in public places, it’s advisable to toe the line.
After a quick traditional breakfast of dosa — crêpe with dipping sauces — at the hotel, I head to what could be construed as the heart of downtown Dubai; its mall. Easily accessible via a walkway from my hotel, The Dubai Mall holds the accolade of being the largest mall in the world, complete with indoor ice skating rink and aquarium. Like everything in this emirate, bigger is better, and covering more than one million square metres, it boasts over a thousand retail stores, seemingly handpicked from all over the world. I note the big names like Louis Vuitton and Chloé, but there’s also Paris’ iconic department store Galeries Lafayette, and I can’t help but smile when I see New Zealand’s representation — a large Jockey store on the first floor. Although eateries aplenty (from New York’s Magnolia Bakery to London’s The Hummingbird Bakery), they’re predominately empty as it’s the first day of Ramadan, a time where Muslims traditionally abstain from food and drink from dawn to dusk for 30 days.
The mall provides an obvious illustration of the city’s international status and shows the juxtaposition of those who inhabit or visit. Wealth is visible everywhere. I see a woman strutting around in jeans with Bottega Veneta heels clacking on the tiles while clutching a quilted Chanel bag; and another in the abaya, the traditional black cloak of Emirati women, with a Dior tote hooked over her arm.
Hours later, I’m disoriented and have the distinct feeling I’ve only seen a quarter of the mall. I decide the only way to get a more expansive view of where I am is to see it from the top, so I head to the Burj Khalifa — the world’s tallest building. From my hotel this iconic structure looks like a multi-tiered skyscraper, stretching up to a needle-like point. My driver this morning already explained its unique Y-shaped structural base was made to replicate a regional desert flower called the hymenocallis, or spider lily. At 828 meters tall, it’s an elegant eyefull. It holds a slew of titles — highest number of storeys, highest outdoor observation deck, tallest service elevator et al. As one of the leading tourist attractions there is quite a wait to get up to the 148th floor, but once there, the view is worth it. I take in the 360-degree panorama and marvel at the sprawling concrete jungle. I can even see the other Burj, the Burj Al Arab’s sail-like silhouette standing proudly on its own man-made island in the Persian Gulf.
As a self-confessed city slicker I feel relatively at home in downtown Dubai. But if you really want to experience the whole city you need to go further afield, and the following day, I certainly do that. I’ve been signed up (against my will!) for a balloon adventure, which is exactly as it’s promoted — a hot air balloon over sunrise, followed by a desert safari. It’s not that I’m afraid of heights per se, but the idea of floating through the air makes me a little jittery. I meet my driver Hossam, an Egyptian who moved here for work, at 4.15am. We set out into the thick fog that’s once again descended. “I’m not sure you’ll fly today,” he says as he sips his water. “But. We will see.” I’m equal parts disappointed and relieved. We drive 65km away from the city to the hot air balloon base in the desert. Before we get out of the car Hossam takes another longer sip. “I need to have water before 4.51,” he says, explaining how the time for fasting changes daily.
We meet a team of pilots and ground crew monitoring the weather. While we wait, Hossam pours us all a traditional Arabic coffee, but only half full, as per tradition. “If I’d poured it to the top it means take your coffee — and go!” The addition of cardamon makes it smooth and sweet. We stand around waiting, and just when it seems there’s no choice but to return to our hotel, our pilot Vitto appears to take us through a safety briefing. Suddenly it’s all go, behind him two hot air balloons unfurl and ripple upwards, reaching for the sky. Vitto turns and leads us over, displaying the writing on the back of his white overalls: ‘Your life, your story; be a hero.’ I’m not feeling particularly heroic, but I’m here now and have to go through with it. For anyone not familiar with the logistics of a hot air balloon ride, the most terrifying part is the ascent. Once the balloon is ready, we jump into the basket over the roar of the spurring flames. And then we are in the air; climbing, climbing quickly to 900 metres above the ground. The sand below becomes ripples of waves, dotted with trees. Once we’ve reached our desired height (and my knees stop shaking) I feel a sense of calm as we float over the golden desert.
Thirty minutes later we bump back to the ground, and Hossam drives us onto royal land where a kaleidoscopic lineup of 1950s vintage vehicles await. We traverse the desert at speed in these Land Rover series I and IIs (which as the first motorised vehicles used in the Dubai desert are a symbolic nod to Dubai’s heritage), the smell of petrol rich in the air. It’s sand (with the occasional Arabian oryx) as far as the eye can see. We park up at a traditional village with Bedouin tents and are offered a traditional breakfast of bajela (beans gently spiced with olive oil and lime), washed down with the Arabic coffee I’m starting to get a taste for. Afterwards, I’m led to the awaiting one-humped camels and offered a ride. I’ve never heard great reports from anyone who has been on a camel (They smell! They spit!), but these seem well cared for, and I’m told “they’re washed twice a day”. I finish my adventure with a bumpy trip on ‘Cara’ just as the heat really starts to envelope us. By evening I’m back at my hotel, in the thick of the city, wearing a Maggie Marilyn dress, heels and glitzy earrings. From where I’m sitting I can see the unique light display that takes over the Burj Khalifa, a beacon lighting up the inky night sky. I feel like I’ve transversed time and space. And that’s one of the most interesting things about Dubai; it’s old and new, gritty and shiny. A unique juxtaposition of the past and the future.
