11th January 2025
It was a Saturday, and I was determined to enjoy a lazy start to the day. I woke up around 7 am, stayed in bed, and wrote yesterday’s blog before publishing it. Jamie remained asleep on his fold-out bed in the lounge until just before 9 am. Meanwhile, I made myself a coffee and indulged in a cheesy herb flatbread for breakfast.

As the morning progressed, Jamie moved out onto the balcony to catch up on emails and then set off for a walk down to the beach and around the headland. I took the opportunity to edit some more past blogs until he returned about an hour later.

We decided to head to the bar and restaurant on the ground floor to enjoy some sunshine. Sitting by the pool, we ordered drinks. While Jamie buried himself in his book, I observed the steady stream of people arriving for food and beverages. Some chose to lounge on the sunbeds encircling the pool. Most of the clientele were of Jamie’s age or younger, and although several changed into swimwear, none seemed remotely interested in swimming. Instead, they fixated on their mobile phones, leaving the water undisturbed.

Eventually, a couple in their fifties arrived, swam one length of the pool, and promptly disappeared back towards the apartments. I had considered a cooling swim myself, but quickly realised this was a pool to be ‘seen’ next to rather than enjoyed. As the lunch service picked up and the sunbeds filled, the pool remained eerily still. For a moment, I toyed with the idea of making a dramatic plunge into its pristine waters, demonstrating what the chlorinated oasis was actually for. However, I thought better of it, not wanting to draw attention to my non-designer (unlabelled) swimwear or cause a watery distraction.

Around 1 pm, we returned to the apartment with plans for a leisurely promenade along Dubai Creek. Jamie assured me it was only a twenty-minute drive, but after a detour to briefly explore a gated community, the journey took over an hour and a half through heavy traffic. We eventually parked in an underground car park serving a vast complex of high-rise buildings.

The area had been purposefully designed to cater to its residents’ every need. Along the riverside promenade were shops, restaurants, parks, and play areas. It was also the departure point for ferries heading to central Dubai. The promenade stretches 4.5 km in total, though we only explored about a kilometre of it. Even on a Saturday afternoon, construction continued at full tilt. Workers could be seen suspended at vertiginous heights and engaged in various tasks. The area offers everything a high-density, high-rise community could need, and the people we passed appeared content. Yet, I couldn’t help but think of ‘The Matrix’.

On the hour-long drive back to the apartment, I realised I’d had enough of navigating Dubai’s chaotic roads. The antics of the city’s drivers had lost their novelty, and I resolved to limit future journeys to the bare minimum.

At some point during the morning, the apartment’s internet connection had failed, and it was still down when we returned. Jamie fired off a message to the owner using the Wi-Fi in the poolside restaurant.

Later that evening, we walked to the western side of the Palm and dined at a Mexican restaurant situated on the beach. Our table, nestled next to the sand, offered spectacular views of the harbour. Surrounding skyscrapers glittered in the night, and a colossal Costa cruise ship loomed beneath them. In the distance, a mesmerising light show illuminated a Ferris wheel. With its ribbons of car headlights and illuminated buildings, Dubai could easily be renamed the ‘City of Moving Lights.’

The meal was excellent, but I found the process of ordering increasingly irksome. I don’t want to ask for a restaurant’s Wi-Fi code just to order food. Nor do I want to scan a barcode, navigate a digital menu on a small screen, and scroll endlessly to decide what to eat. I yearn for the simplicity of a printed menu I can point to, tried and tested for millennia. Don’t even get me started on paying for the meal!

I’ve concluded that Dubai, and perhaps the UAE as a whole, is a playground for the young and upwardly mobile, who prioritise showcasing their success over considering its broader impact. The city’s roads are a tangle of high-speed, fuel-guzzling supercars and luxury models, contributing to the thin orange haze blanketing the skyline. Petrol stations are perpetually busy, with long queues stretching towards the pumps. Here, fuel efficiency seems an alien concept and frequent fill-ups are accepted as a trade-off.

We refuelled our modest hire car for less than the cost of two beers. Meanwhile, oversized vehicles like G-Wagons, which clog the six-lane highways, will never see the rugged terrain of the desert. Much like swimsuits that never touch water, these cars are merely extensions of their owners’ status, more about display than utility.