We finally got there and the airport seemed completely devoid of staff until the bus drew up outside the arrivals 'lounge'. How plush it was! Shiny, shiny marble seemed to adorn every surface and the immigration staff looked exceptionally smart and professional bedecked in their Thobes with their heads covered by their Ghutras. I didn't think people actually dressed like that apart from for special occasions.
Once through immigration we made our way to the taxi queue having given up on trying to extract cash from the ATM as, between us, we must have tried 8 different credit and debit cards with no success whatsoever. In the end, we used one of the currency exchange booths to get us enough cash for the taxi. The queue, at first, looked completely shambolic but it turned out there was a system after all; we just had to wait. One man seemed to be controlling the whole process and with a series of arm gestures, shouts and points we were soon safely on board a taxi and being whisked off to our hotel. Once there, we checked in and made our way to the bar. It was naffly called The Sherlock Holmes Pub and bore little relation to an English pub other than the TVs on the wall and the hideous collection of unrelated nic-nacks decorating the place. I went back down to pick up the room keys and the very excited receptionist was delighted to tell me that she'd upgraded us to a luxury suite. Lucky us!
There's not that much to say about Dubai itself other than the fact that it feels like a very transient place. I get the feeling that most of the people there are on their way to somewhere else and just fancy stopping off to make the most of the shopping which is, on the whole, not bad. It's not the tax-free mecca that people make it out to be but it's still worth a stopover. The whole place feels like a building site as there are literally thousands of new, high-rise buildings being put up. I've no idea who is going to buy these million-dollar-plus apartments, it's certainly not the legions of immigrant workers putting them up as Tariq, our useless driver and guide, informed us that these workers make about £40 per month. Not a lot!
We saw the Burj Al Arab which is the world's only [self-proclaimed!!] 7 star hotel. It was smaller than I imagined but impressive nonetheless
We also did the obligatory Dune-Safari which, being a 6 hour excursion, was about three hours too long. The actual dune bashing only lasted for about an hour and became marginally exciting when our driver got us stuck in the sand after negotiating a particularly steep downward manoeuvre. The last part of the excursion was spent in a so-called bedouin camp for a barbecue and belly-dancer. I felt so sorry for her as most of the audience were very drunk Indian men and decided that they were dancers from a Bollywood film and decided to lend her a hand with the dancing. One particularly wobbly one wanted to show off by balancing a plastic beaker of brandy on his head whilst thrusting his groin at her provocatively. Of course, the brandy ended up all down his back, soaking his polyester jacket. His fate could have been a lot worst had he been smoking at the time. I made sure that I was standing well out of reach as she had an annoying habit of trying to entice other people to dance with her. It's no secret that I was terrified every time she looked in my direction. As soon as her set had finished, she legged it off of the stage and made for the nearest toilets to change back into her more usual attire.
Some pictures:
Posts
