United Arab Emirates

September 13, 2006

There’s a built-in monitor in front of every seat in “Emirates” airplanes. In addition to a wide range of movies (no worse that the selection at a stall selling pirated films) and computer games, it has two channels broadcasting images from cameras mounted on the outside of the plane. The cameras point downwards and forwards. You can see what’s happening at all times, including during takeoff and landing. Any self- respecting Russian pilot will never, ever, tell you that he’s queuing for takeoff — you’re just going to have to wait as long as it takes. In the West captains are much more forthcoming with information: they’ll tell you about the weather and what the flight dispatcher told them. In this instance, they’ll also show you.

A visit to the Emirates was not part of the original plan, I didn’t even have a visa. It’s just that I had a stopover here on the way from Johannesburg to Moscow. On the way to southern Africa I simply killed time in the airport smoking lounge. Airport smoking lounges are always highly sophisticated gas chambers. The only exception is Sheremetyevo, where you can smoke next to designated pillars. The more progressive the airport, the more horrid its smoking lounge. Especially in Domodedovo and in Riga — their unabashed hate towards smokers sets them apart.

On the way back from Africa I decided that it was silly to fly past the UAE without going out to take a look. I went online to see what’s out there. You won’t find any useful information on Russian websites — they all reprint each other’s stupid promotional booklets, or quote press releases published by the Federal Tourism Agency of the Russian Federation. The English language internet produced results right away: you can buy a transit visa directly from your airline or hotel.

So I just bought a ticket for one day later and showed it at the counter when I got to the Emirates. That’s all it took, here I am in Dubai.

Dubai and its ilk

It was about 6 a.m., dawn had barely broken. The airport door slid off to one side and the nightmare began. Temperatures had already risen to around about 30 degrees by this point. My camera and my glasses fogged up instantaneously. What’s even worse is the misting fans — they treat all technological devices with contempt.

I dropped off my suitcase at the hotel and went to roam the city. This turned out to be a pointless exercise for two reasons. First, it was roughly 40 degrees outside. I’ll tell you about the second one shortly.

First things first, I went to a pharmacy to buy sunscreen. This hadn’t been necessary in Africa — the air does not get any hotter than 25 degrees this time of year. Here the air conditioning is your only lifeline.

I had a coffee at “Starbucks”. Then went to the Indian barbers to get a haircut.

They’re rolling in it in the Emirates, so it’s not surprising that some café chose a “Hummer”, not a “Mini”, as its promotional vehicle. The lads must be quite miffed.

Money and street signs will help you learn the real Arabic numerals. The rhombus-shaped dot is a zero. The one that looks like a zero is a five. The signs are affixed to the post in five places.

It’s heartening to see that Arabs don’t confuse the comma with the full stop when used as decimal separator. Readers cannot fathom just how irritated this pedantic designer gets when he sees a “Sultan Ibrahim/kg 15.90Dhs.” sign. In the Old World it’s 15,90 — no ifs or buts.

Most benches have advertising sticking out of them. Here they tilted the teacup, but the tea remained parallel to the horizon in the studio where the photograph was taken.

There is no universal dress code in the Emirates. If you want, you can walk around in a costume complete with chador.

You can run around naked if you like.

The same goes for men — while some sport suit jackets, others don the national dress. It consists of a white robe, a headscarf, a ring for pressing down the headscarf, and a mobile phone.

At some point it finally hit me that there is no one out in the street in Dubai. Just me and countless construction workers wearing coveralls in the 45-degree heat.

The second reason why it’s pointless to stroll around here is the distances. Dubai just wasn’t made for walking around in. For instance, if you look at a map it looks like it’ll take you about ten minutes to get to that famous sail- shaped hotel from the other end of the city. In actual fact it takes at least an hour. Plus not only is this hotel in the arse end of nowhere, but it’s also of no interest up close.

All of the tunnels under flyovers are decorated with a pseudo-mosaic made out of rectangular tiles.

There’s only one street in Dubai which they’ve more or less finished building, it’s the one you see in all the pictures. Skyscrapers stand shoulder to shoulder on both sides of the thoroughfare. There’s nothing behind them except faceless single-storey buildings.

Here’s a typical house in an expensive neighbourhood — it’s boring, like all architecture born of 3D editor software.

The point of the arrows on the end of the waves remains a mystery. Why exactly the swimmer is calling others to follow him is unclear. Nor is it clear why he is wearing a jumper.

There is absolutely nothing to do in Dubai. Expensive real estate under construction is all there is. They have a long way to go before they catch up with Shanghai.

There are also lots of shopping centres, where you can buy the aforementioned expensive real estate under construction.

The whole city is busy driving back and forth through traffic jams in air- conditioned cars, going from one bit of air-conditioned real estate to another, and stopping off at air-conditioned shopping centres. It’s the regular glossy magazine reader’s wet dream — a deluxe apartment and shopping till your drop.

One day is more than enough to see everything. Do svidanja Dubai.

By the way, why is it that in Russian the Emirates are called united, while the States are known as joint? Just curious. In English they’re both called “united”.