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Shout Out #36
Entry 39 of 41 | show all | print this entry |
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"Forget me! I met the son-of-a-gun." The in-flight movie on the luxuriously half full Emirates plane had been dubbed to a G rating. Had I been blindfolded and magically transported to the window seat, the dubbed movie would have made it clear that the aircraft was heading to a destination with a dangerous balance of wealth and religion. A mixture commonly infected with a penchant for cuteness. "Fuck me! I met the son-of-a-bitch" is not cute. It's a phrase in need of some fine-tuning. Something to make it a little more pious. My problem with cute is that it's so rarely gosh-diddly-darned honest. It's the equivalent of telling someone to have a nice day. The cute movie was a good indication that I was leaving the fucking god-blessed rawness of India behind.
The first time I heard of a place called Dubai was about 10 years prior. A television documentary highlighted the design and construction of the Burj al Arab, an incredible luxury hotel built to resemble the sail of a dhow. The show went into detail regarding the tremendous effort of constructing an island and building an intricately complex structure on that island. Cooling the building in a way that didn't create condensation during construction was a fine tuned task in itself. My first question about the documentary was, "Who the hell wants to go to a '7 star' resort in a Middle Eastern desert anyway?" Ten years later I'm landing in that desert wondering if I can afford a third as many stars.
The industrial view during landing was unimpressive. The skyscrapers were hardly visible through the dusty air and nothing grew in the sand. Even for a desert it looked barren. Exiting the airplane on a separate ramp as the first and business class passengers I had clearly been demoted from 'wealthy traveler' to 'poor backpacker'. Once through the immaculate terminal getting my baggage and visa stamp took less than ten minutes total. Just as I was exiting to the taxi/hotel booking area a man in a white robe stopped me.
"Excuse me, do you smoke or drink?"
"Gee whiz mister, I'd never think of smoking doobies or tipping the sauce."
"Where are you landing from?"
"Kolkata."
"Come with me." Kolkata is apparently a suspicious place to fly from.
He led me to a small shakedown room and asked if I had any medication. I showed him my bag of toiletries and he was satisfied. Even if it proved that I was a no-good ruffian, searching my overloaded backpack was a daunting task. It might have been cute to go through my stuff with him. We could have bonded over anecdotes about the various articles in my bag. "What are these?"
"Ah....it's called poi. You, ah, light these on fire and spin them in circles with the chains." It's probably best that we avoided the cute scenario.
Checking into an actual hotel was a startling experience. A team of friendly, kiss-ass staff acted like they actually wanted me to stay. I signed my credit card receipt and the guy handed me a large folder of information. "There you are sir. The deli is right over there if you'd like to buy snacks, the restaurant for your breakfast buffet is right there, and this 'Check-in Packet' will tell you a little about Dubai and our other services. Do you need any help with your bag?"
"No thanks. It's easier to just leave it on my back once I've got it there."
"Okay sir, we hope you have a nice stay."
"Cool. Thanks." (I really hope so too.)
There was an elevator. The door to my room locked without using a padlock and it opened with a keycard set to deactivate at my departure time. The room had a bed with linens (that were clean) and several pillows more than I could use. The shower had a showerhead that rained into a bathtub, not a drain set randomly on the floor. There wasn't a bucket to be seen. I looked in the mirror and saw a clear reflection. Prior to visiting India I hadn't combed my hair in years. Although Indian mirrors were as pointless as vanity in India, combing my hair had become a necessity. The calcium in the water caused my hair to get especially tangled. A clear reflection after months of shadows was shocking. "Whoa, so that's what I've become." I stepped forward to look closer and stubbed my toe on the doorstop. "Gosh-darned, mother flipping, son-of-a-buck! Don't they know that the developmentally disabled doors are meant to bang against the 'special' walls?!" The luscious shower quickly cooled my temper.
I set out for the city dressed in my nicest threads and armed with a map from the trusty 'Check-in Packet'. A taxi pulled in front of the hotel as I left the lobby.
"No thanks, I'm just going to walk."
"Walk? No, wait sir."
I waived him off and kept walking. "I'm alright."
"Hey mister! Hey, I just want to ask you a question."
I waived again and kept walking. He drove up next to me. "Hey, are you from Egypt?" Americans often thought I was European, Europeans knew I was American, and in Dubai, I somehow resembled an Egyptian.
"What? No, I'm not from Egypt."
"Two days ago there was a man who wants to walk like you. I think maybe you are the same man."
"It wasn't me." Apparently the desire to walk around Dubai is more distinct than blatant genetic or cultural differences. As he sped away I knew I should have hired him.
I walked down a broad recently paved road, crossed a dirt road still under construction, came to another recently paved road with a bit more traffic, and ended up at a gas station with a Subway sandwich shop. The gas station was on the frontage road for a major highway. According to my 'Check-in Packet' map a mall with cheap food was on the opposite side of the highway. I analyzed the cross-ability of the highway but the concrete median wall was a deal breaker. Maybe a true Egyptian could cross any road without fear. I am from a much less noble heritage. I followed the frontage road along a dusty stretch of land that ended at an overpass for a crossing highway. I ran across the cloverleaf on-ramp, went up to the bridge, and made my way over the major intersection. The sidewalk ended at a construction site just past the exit ramp of the overpass. Rather than walking through freeway traffic I decided to cut through the construction site and weave my way to the mall parking lot.
A group of Indian laborers working on the highway looked at me like an alien who had teleported into the situation. It took a few moments before they decided I wasn't a random supervisor. Then the questions began, "Where from? What's your name?" and to complete the Indian experience, we posed for some photos together. Our fun ended when an Asian man came by and told them to get back to work.
Watching the mall crowd gave a pretty good glimpse of the city's dynamic. While eating warm pizza in the food court with teenagers and mall employees, my attention went to an Arab boy playing a claw game for full-sized Cadbury bars. He wore jeans and a t-shirt, as did his father sitting at a nearby table. Between calls on the cell phone his father spoke with another Arab man in western attire and frequently contributed to his son's chocolate fund. Every time the claw snagged a chocolate bar and started it's slow ascent the boy held his breath. When the claw rattled around at the top of the chain he leaned forward and silently begged it to hold firm in the grip. His entire body tensed as the claw crept toward the chute. It was almost his. When the chocolate dropped safely into his clutches, he quickly fed the machine more money for another thrill ride. When it didn't, he fed it even faster. He left with a Halloween-sized chocolate horde.
One can get a good sense of Dubai's dynamic by sitting at a mall. Arabian men dressed in dishdashah robes with shumagg head coverings shopped in luxury stores while talking constantly on cell phones. Arabian women wearing black abayas dropped a lot of cash on handbags and other accessories. Teenie boppers ran in diverse packs. They were presumably the children of the European, American, Australian, and Asian expats being paid well to keep the city growing. A few expats stopped to eat at the food court- presumably taking a break from keeping the city growing. Somehow the mixture of fading Arabian traditions, contemporary Western influences (Americanization), a larger foreign than local population, lots of money, and an insane rate of growth have managed to create a city of nowhere. It's a newer and bigger mall again and again in the same way forever. The worlds tallest tower is under construction and the next worlds tallest tower is already being planned.
Five stars is six stars is seven stars. But what good is luxury if it's not rich? A desert only has the properties necessary to produce fertile growth at a small scale. The scale of Dubai's development has been fantastic...that of a fantasy being realized. My sense of life in the city is that it's largely vacant...shiny surfaces, not much depth. Without fertility its luxuries will only become more luxurious and more vacant as global resources become more scarce. The scale is too large to create a multi-dimensional community in a harsh environment.
Walking didn't work. Freeways ran between mega developments built by private entities. There was no public realm to walk through, only a vast selection of air-conditioned shopping centers. Once I had eaten and seen what was to be seen in that mall, I went to the taxi line and waited 20 minutes for my ride. Using a map from my 'Check-in Packet' I told the driver to take me to Old Dubai. "I want to go somewhere to walk around."
"Why go there? I can take you here." Pointing at the Burj al Arab, "Verrdy nice. You can walk around there, then you can go here, The Mall of the Emirates. More than 5 kilometers of shops and corridors. You like to ski?"
"The Burj sounds good. I doubt I'll go to the mall though."
Although I couldn't see the horizon, the deep blue sky told me the sun had already sunk into the sea. The taxi dropped me off at the front gate of the hotel as the sunlight gave way to the changing illumination of the hotel sail. The Burj al Arab is not a hotel where sloppy backpackers can stop in for a quick look. I could only admire from adjacent properties. The manmade waterways at a neighboring resort- the Madinat al Jumeirah- gave the best perspective. Ever since the TV documentary introduced me to Dubai, the 'sail hotel' has been my mental picture of the place. Seeing it with my own eyes from the contrived waterway changed my image of the city. Its luxuries are undisputed. The details are precise and its profile is stunning, but it sits on a manmade island in a hostile environment. The sky is silty, the heat is unyielding, and water is scarce. Immersed in the luxuries of the interior space these facts are probably inconsequential. From the outside it's a compound in a desert city with a mysterious lack of purpose...and that's my fascination with the place. That's my image of the city. It's an image I can't understand.
A star floated perfectly beside the crescent moon in the early night, accentuating the moon's glow. Both reflected crisply on the surface of the lagoon. The composition was so flawless I wondered what it cost to reorganize the heavens.
The map showed smaller roads weaving through smaller blocks with smaller buildings. With a rental car I was determined to find a place where I could walk among people. Old Dubai was my best bet. In the recent building explosion the city skyline has become a staggering sight. Not only do the existing buildings cast superhuman shadows, it's the mass of cranes that tells the story. Over 1000 tower cranes and several thousand mobile cranes call the city home. Finding an outdoor space with intimate proportions wasn't easy. Most of the developments are mega-centers divided by mega-highways, making for a mega-private life. The closer I got to Dubai Creek the scale of the roadways became much more democratic.
Prior to the building boom Old Dubai was Dubai. It's where the Beduins came in from the desert and where traders had little outposts in the souks. Long before the discovery of oil fueled and spurred the growth of the city in the middle of the 20th century, the community existed at a modest scale. Without massive amounts of cheap energy (oil), modest is the only feasible scale for a desert community. Though the modern souks are mostly glass storefronts, the area still has a pedestrian feel.
For a dirham (about 30 cents) ferryboats take passengers one way across the creek. The famed gold souk is in the deira neighborhood on the opposite side of the waterway from the majority of Old Dubai. Over 25 metric tons of gold are on display in Dubai's over 600 jewelry shops. Half of those shops are in the gold souk. I made a pass through some of the streets to see the displays but wasn't too enthralled. Gold is gold and stuff made of gold is stuff made of gold. It looks the same in a glass case in Dubai as it does in a glass case anywhere else. The souk was mostly interesting because it inspired a game of 'Who would wear that?' With the gaudiest pieces I imagined different people (rappers excluded) walking down the street in a 10 kilo broche. Every image came with a story about why they wore such a thing. I kept returning to the same explanation though. 'Because it's bigger than the one that last person wore.'
The spice souk was much more intriguing...spicier. All the spices were kept in large sacks along the sides of small aisles in open-air structures. The aromas blended into a distinctly Middle Eastern scent. The souks are a last vestige of traditional Arabian culture. Larger stores and supermarkets are quickly replacing the informal trading outlets. Dubai's history may soon begin at the discovery of oil.
Jumeirah Beach Park had an entry fee. In lieu of paying I kept driving along Jumeirah Beach Road. Not far past the park fences I made a right, and pulled up on the beach. A blonde western girl was sunbathing next to her Volkswagen with an open door so she could listen to music. A western man flew a kite within close proximity of the blonde sunbather. His car was a little farther away. A group of Arabian men were parked down the beach. "This is too American to even be allowed in the U.S." I parked and went for a swim. After six months away from the ocean, the salty water was especially soothing. I was sufficiently prepared for another mall visit.
The place was huge. I parked but I didn't know where I was in relation to what it was. I roughly equated it with landing on the Death Star and trying to find Princess Lea. A huge linear appendage to the building gave the impression I was somewhere near the indoor ski area. One of the first things I was asked upon hearing about my stop in Dubai was 'Are you going to snowboard?'
"What? Snowboard? In a mall? I'm from Colorado man. No thanks."
The whole thing sounded so absurd. An enormous mall?...in the middle of the desert?...with snow?...skiing?...what the fuck? (Oops, my apologies...What the gosh darn heck?) Regardless, I had to see it. Although I parked near the appendage it took awhile to weave my way through the long corridors. That cabbie may have been right when he said the Mall of the Emirates has over 5 kilometers of shopping. It was a long hike past a countless number of shops before I found the glass enclosed winter wonderland.
Dubai is a shining example of a privatization trend happening in many countries. Public amenities are being provided more and more by private agencies. As a result public space is becoming increasingly private. Plazas are becoming malls and malls are becoming the primary gathering spaces. Public spaces were once the locations for public debate and conversation. They were places to transfer information. As a commercial product in a digital age, gathering spaces are now sources of entertainment and public discourse is fed by a variety of media outlets. The market is a mall is an entertainment center...and for the right price, it snows in the desert.
I wanted to hate it. I wanted to hate the excess and the absurdity of it, but I couldn't. Once I saw people careening down the slope and the kids playing in the little snow park I knew it wouldn't take much time in the city before I'd have a season pass. What else would I do after parking on the beach?
Every night I would routinely get in my car and drive through LA-esque rush hour traffic, park in one of the structures (the one I ultimately understood to be the closest), take my board off the rack, walk through the mall, snowboard for a few hours, have dinner at the delicious Lebanese place in the food court, sit down to write in a mall café (until the secondhand smoke became intolerable), and go home just late enough to be tired at work the next day. Day in and day out. I might switch scenes with the completion of new malls and new forms of entertainment but the basics are the same. I would live that way because the city is built that way. It's a lifestyle I might be able to sustain for an extended amount of time. I'm guessing I would burn out sooner than later though.
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