Lost in Dubai

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Lost in Dubai

Details: Parent Category: Travel Info; Category: Travel Feature; Published on Friday, 13 February 2015 01:26; Written by Marion Dreyfus

The opening night gala for the local 11th Annual Dubai Film Festival was the Hawking film, The Theory of Everything. I do not automatically agree with his views--quite stunted, in fact (some), but liked the film itself. I respect the views of Einstein much more. The closing night of the fest will be Into the Woods.

I am pretty amazed at the vast variety of people attending--many with small kids, too--a result of many special screenings of "kiddie" films--one of which I screened today, Fiddlesticks, a German opus for children, the director said. I foundvit highly disturbing and, under it all, very dark stuff, indeed. The director huffed at me that he knew "adults wouldn't like it." But the kids I asked were not quite sure what the German tale of overturning adult management of the elderly was about. It was amusing to see the same 'type' of people the world over sees as volunteers, people smitten with film, though their 'real professions' are in a googolplex of fields outside the exotic film biz. There are 600 vols at the fest, which is occupying three far-flung loci, and has a huge range of offerings to pique the interest. Symposia, discussions, events as well as films. After the films, or before, one is nestled in a myriad complex of restaurants, high-end shops, and the paraphernalia common to film festivals--quick snack shacks, oddments and stuff to whet the wallet.

It is nice to be in warm weather, with zephyrs much of the day, even if, with my very late hours, the muezzins' early call to prayer, at 4-something then at 5-something, retards my ability to sleep the usual 2-3 hrs I allot myself. This Hyatt is only a few hundred feet from a sandstone-colored double-minareted Mosque, so the prayer singsong is particularly close and prevalent at the 5 appointed times of Muslim prayer daily.

One thing that surprises, whether in restaurants, supermarkets around the city, or my own Hyatt lobby, is the profusion of Christmas trees everywhere, their blinking lights a strong reminder that Dubai is stranger-friendly. One sees the traditional green and red colors, too, quite everywhere, but the flags represent, with a black stripe, the 43rd anniversary of the country, too.

The benevolence of the spirit father of the country, Prince Mahtoum, is evidenced by all the wealth and bonhomie experienced all over. This wealthy leader began in his early 20s to plan for a greater populace, educated and comfortable. The results in 40 years of incessant growth (save for the oil-crash time of 2007-2008, when times were so bad people abandoned their cars and their half-finished projects and fled the country to avoid being jailed for abdicating on debts incurred). One spots many rotund mannmichaelikins of Pere Noel, too, in shops and souk booths

Getting to see a cabinet member is...difficult. Everything is uber-professional, and all events must be pre-arranged and contracted for, and onlined, and telephoned, and then...? Though everyone is gracious and kind and generous and helpful to a fault. It is good to experience these people and times, as they modify one's proclivity to buy into all one's various activism and biases--some correct, of course. But others, perhaps, occasionally unwarranted.

I find time and again the quick humor and ready wit of the attractive men in long white and headgear with whom I come into daily contact, and they seem--to be--just what they appear; earnest working guys doing their best. Even wandering around at 2:30 am, i feel safe. And the restaurants and supermarkets open for business are a pleasure to night owlets. Many palaces dot the city, surrounded by privacy modes and guards, exquisite flower beds and thoroughly green trees and foliage. Dancing waters and fountains enliven the air in many frontages, a sign of fertility and life in a desert zone. Everyone speaks English --one woman here seven years speaks maybe eight words of Arabic. "There's no need for me to speak Arabic," she mock-complains, when I question the lack of vocabulary in Arabic. Ma'alesh.

There is no public drinking, and disorderly conduct is not seen, tho late-night clubs and restaurants and parties in private do feature beer or spirits. If you innocently ask for ice in a glass somewhere in the premises, people will tsk tsk and caution against drinking--you must hasten to say the ice is for Coke or Sprite.

The niqab and abaya are seen widely, with women whose eyes pierce their black stygian prisons staring hard as I stare at them. The amusing pairing of blinding white djellabiyahs on husbands accompanying no-sun penetrating all-black female figures is a commonplace. In its 'honor,' today I purchased a tie-dyed ombre scarf in male and female--I mean, startling black juxtaposed with blinding white. This is not to say that there are not gorgeous abayas. One that wholly took the breath away featured a filmy over-caftan in thinnest, sheerest midnight gauze or chiffon, was gold-edged with drapey bat-wings stemming from the small of the back of the abaya, where the over-caftan was anchored to the abaya with a cluster of what looked like several lifetimes of diamonds in a brilliant square, somewhere on the front echoed by a similar austere patch of splendid faceted investment-grade flashing gems, and ending at the careless, slim fingers of this creature on each hand. A remarkably haunting garment ensemble for all it revealed zero about its wearer but for kohl-ringed eyes and a soignee imperturbability. It bespoke vast sums of treasure, as it sailed by on the arm of a bearded, trim, superbly dressed male in a dark, tailored Savile Row suiting, a paradigm of presumed power... attire that effortlessly eliminates the need for volumes or bios.

Guilty: I have been secretly peering in all the windows to find such a garment, which must cost the sky. The gorgeous caftans I spotted in the massive mall surrounding the Jumeirah Mall venue of the festival were in the 400-500 AED (Arab Emirate Dirham), upwards of $150-200 and further. One scarf I loved, a blue and white silken pashmina, shatoosh, was AED 1,500! Neighborhood of $500 or so for an unassuming printed scarf. And of course it is tiresome but necessary to bargain for every single thing, from a vial of oil to that piece of volcanic lava scrub--all the way to bead-encrusted sandals.

So prices are not posted, or mean nothing--one must be insightful, charming and persistent in keeping in mind the inflated prices first quoted. And of course, coming along with every small-to-larger transaction is the repartee and flirting, male to female, that is part and parcel of the bargaining economy and process. So many items are abandoned because the lengthy time required to buy a bottle of cream or a jar of tea means losing one's next appointment or forfeiting a cab or handy bus. And who carries so much cash? One is penalized for using credit, and they will not bend--prices escalate without wads of cash on hand. All told, something of an exotic pain.

The Friday 'weekend'--our Sabbath-- means there are no buses or Metro. Rest day or holiday while people sleep in or go to mosque for the morning. The resumption of Metro service, at 2 pm, signals the playtime they indulge in after mosque attendance. But it is damned inconvenient, though compared to NYC cabs, the taxis here are mildly costly (not to locals or imported labor, but to spoiled Westerners), but the 60 AEDs to get anywhere add up fast. And my hotel is new, far from town centre, and thus a puzzlement to nearly all taxis, as you hear the drivers quietly calling their dispatchers to ask for directions, and most of the time, no dispatcher knows where the hotel is, or even its name. A network of cabbies then surfaces as the cabbie calls in to his buddies to ask how to get to the Hyatt Place, only the fifth Hyatt in the city, all with similar names but far-separated loci.

The glam and outstanding skyline features 7-star palaces of opulence, but one cannot just walk in. One must make a reservation, and dining entails dressing to the nines to pass muster. The slightest collation in the fabled Burj Khalifa and the sailboat-shaped hotels engenders a $100-200 tab at minimum. The Burj is indeed amazing, however, with vast oversight over the entire city, and far into the desert around, that desert that has been diminished so radically by the astonishing business and pleasure edifices stabbing the UAE vault of sky. Prices for a photo are equally dizzying: $30 per photo. When one complains, the Asian girls [Chinese, Indonesian, Philippino, occasionally Ukrainian] staffing the concessions and shops and photo huts trill and blush (if they could) with the gimmicky and oft-heard "Well, we are the highest building in the world, so it is natural our prices match...!"

Going to Sharjah in the morning. Went to bash the dunes earlier this day, an hour outside of the city, along highways that remind one of Tunisia, dotted with scrub and the occasional nonworking olive tree, before the dark coppery dunes themselves present. Walking in the deep, cushiony sand is lovely, as it is warm, squishy without being annoying, and there is no glass or cigarette unsightlies to mar the squeeze between your toes. The wind picks up, and a film of grit wafts over your face, helping to de-demarcate the footsteps and impressions of anything that has gone before. Once the wind dies down, there is again the pleasure of the soft and plush pile of the sandy dunes.after the festival. I was not thrilled with the way the SUV driver tried to frighten the passengers by sharply ascending and descending precipitous and scary dunes: I guess you get your thrills where they offer. Abu Dhabi on the weekend.

Someone stole my earrings and a necklace I made. The hotel is in a lather, fearing for its reputation--it is a brand new hotel, and theft already would be disastrous, as Tweeted or FB'ed info like this could easily go viral and kill an aborning new place. They have asked to examine everything in my room, to ensure I myself did not mistakenly misplace or lose my jewelry in my various bags and luggage and impedimenta. Twice. Tomorrow, again, they have asked to go through my stuff; evidently they are satisfied that the cleaning staff does not have the missing items. Someone, housekeeping or thief, removed these items from the dressing table I had placed them on, days ago.

For the first days here, I could not access any email, as the wisdom of MSN decided I must be a hacker to myself, and denied me permission to access my own accounts. Foreign computers. Strange. After days of wrangling and answering two dozen intimate and personal bio questions, they decided I might, uh, really be myself, and granted access. But computer time is still not an easy find, so...don't clog the emailways, I implore. In two days, there was an accumulatum of over 400 unread emails. Still behind...

Lots of TV, if one has time to listen. Lots of papers and magazines. But the tranquility of the days most seem to manifest does not seem riven with upheavals, crises of computer malfunction at Heathrow, or so much that surges the choler and blood in the Apple and, say, Jerusalem.

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