(9th January 2025)

Jamie opted for the fold-out bed in the lounge, generously giving up the double bed in the bedroom for me. As we couldn’t find a spare duvet, he had to make do with a couple of blankets. Despite this, he slept well. The air conditioning, however, kept the room a little too cold for my liking and emitted an irritating, sporadic rattle that compelled me to use the earplugs I always bring on holiday.

At 8:30 am, I got up to make my morning coffee and found Jamie still asleep. By the time I’d showered, he was up, dressed, and already working on his laptop. After a quick breakfast of just a banana, I took a walk to the supermarket, 300 metres away, situated on the ground floor of a row of identical-looking apartment blocks.

As expected, the prices were higher than in the UK. A medium-sized jar of coffee costs 17.75 AED (£3.90), but I’ve visited many places where prices were even more eye-watering. Along with the coffee, I purchased a couple of cheese and herb flatbreads, a jar of Coffee Mate, and a carrier bag, bringing the total to £9.40.

The supermarket was located at the start of a long mall that stretched far into the distance, lined with every conceivable outlet you could wish for. After briefly exploring the facilities, I ventured outside and discovered a delightful linear park that also seemed to extend endlessly.

The park featured a running and cycling track, actively used by the predominantly European residents. There was also a winding paved walkway that passed through a series of mini-parks, some equipped with playgrounds, others with exercise equipment. The entire layout was thoughtfully designed to cater to a young, modern, family-oriented community. I passed numerous couples with pushchairs and dog walkers. With the wide array of shops and amenities in the mall, there seemed little reason to leave The Palm if you didn’t wish to. However, I didn’t encounter anyone remotely close to my age.

When I returned to the apartment, Jamie was still working. He declined the cheese flatbread I’d brought for him, preferring to wait until the evening to eat, as he was satisfied with his morning banana and coffee. I found my flatbread very tasty and popped the spare one in the fridge for tomorrow.

Jamie had planned a rather exhausting schedule for the day, starting with a drive to the top of The Palm to view the iconic 5-star ‘Palm Atlantis’ and its nearby neighbour, the brick-shaped ‘Royal Atlantis’. We drove by slowly, allowing me to take as many photos as I wanted, before turning down a side road and parking to visit a hotel Jamie had stayed in last October. We lingered just long enough to take some photos from the beach, then made our way back down The Palm, through increasingly heavy traffic, towards Dubai City.

The traffic into Dubai was claustrophobic, so it was with considerable relief that we finally parked in the underground car park at Dubai Old City. Emerging onto the surface, it was refreshing (and slightly surreal) to see that the authorities had preserved this area as though it were frozen in time, circa 100 years ago. The heritage district, perched on the banks of Dubai Creek, once served as the gateway to the Gulf’s most successful pearl-diving port. Its gypsum and coral buildings have been meticulously restored, complete with iconic wind towers, and now house a traditional Souk, a sensory overload of sights, smells, and relentless bargaining.

It was in one such shop that Jamie embarked on a valiant negotiation for traditional Arab attire: a thobe (long robe), a shemagh (headscarf), and an egal (rope band). Tomorrow’s itinerary included a mosque visit in Abu Dhabi, where traditional Muslim wear is required and, somewhat cheekily, not provided free for tourists. After being outfitted to his satisfaction, the shopkeeper launched proceedings at a lofty 1,500 AED. Jamie, unimpressed, countered swiftly, and the price plummeted to 1,000 AED. I joined in with a few well-placed comments, and suddenly it was 500 AED. When Jamie removed the garments and started for the door, the shopkeeper’s despair hit its zenith, and the price sank to 300 AED. We left a forlorn Pakistani folding his wares and muttering about the injustices of tourism.

Undeterred, we wandered further into the Souk and stumbled across another outlet selling the same attire. Here, the initial quote was a mere 150 AED for the whole ensemble. Jamie tried on a set, and I, not to be outdone, chipped in with, “How about a discount if I buy one too?” This ingenious move shaved the price to 130 AED each. Fifteen minutes later, two newly minted “Arab Sheikhs” strolled the alleyways, much to the delight of shopkeepers who, upon spotting our obvious charade, gleefully beckoned us to browse their stalls.

Continuing along Dubai Creek, we strolled to Abra Marine, where the river curves sharply before spilling into the Gulf. We snapped photos, watched the riverboats ferrying their tourist cargo, and basked in the charm of Old Dubai, an oasis of authenticity amidst the city’s glitzy chaos.

Eventually, we returned to the car and drove to the Dubai Mall, a behemoth that makes every other shopping centre I have experienced seem quaint. Boasting the title of the second-largest mall in the world by total land area, it’s part of the 20-billion-dollar Downtown Dubai complex, nestled next to the Burj Khalifa. Calling it a mall feels inadequate; it’s more of a labyrinth designed to bewilder, entice, and deplete wallets with alarming efficiency. From luxury boutiques to tech marvels, it offers everything you could want (and plenty you don’t). While my sandals lost several millimetres of their soles, I couldn’t help but marvel, and cringe, at this shrine to consumerism.

After sufficient retail therapy to last several lifetimes, we headed to the ticket counter for the Burj Khalifa. Online research had suggested £35 each for the lift ride to the top. At the counter, however, we were informed it was 1,000 AED (£200+) for the two of us. Jamie, who had been up before, shrugged, and I, having zip-wired down Annapurna, decided I didn’t need to spend quite so extravagantly to stand on another tall thing.

Instead, we found a lakeside restaurant in Burj Park with prime seats overlooking the water and the towering Burj Khalifa. Drinks and nibbles arrived, and we unwound until 6 pm when the famous fountain show began. As water pirouetted to music, illuminated by the shimmering lights of surrounding skyscrapers, we sat utterly mesmerised, a brief but magical respite from the day’s hustle.

On the way back to the car, Jamie picked up some dates for Sue, a fittingly sweet conclusion to an exhausting but unforgettable day in Dubai.

The journey back to our apartment on the Palm, however, was anything but sweet. Traffic was so dense that even a limping camel could have overtaken us with ease. When eight lanes of vehicles inch along at the pace of molasses, you know something needs to change. Surely, a city that can build the tallest tower in the world, air-conditioned bus stops could sort out its traffic woes with fewer cars and better alternatives. After all, Dubai isn’t exactly short on cash or innovation.

Once back at the apartment, we freshened up and ventured out for dinner at Wagamama, located in the mall I’d toured earlier in the day. To our surprise, it was raining on the walk there, a rare occurrence in Dubai that felt as improbable as finding a free parking spot.

After dinner, Jamie, undeterred by the day’s marathon of activities, decided to hit the hotel gym. Meanwhile, I retired for the night and began typing this blog, a final nod to a whirlwind day in the ever-fascinating city of Dubai.