14th January 2025

A late start today, the hire car would be picked up sometime, thus tethering us to the Palm. Still, by 10 a.m., we were both awake, showered, and semi-functional. Jamie spent the morning commandeering the restaurant’s Wi-Fi, diligently ploughing through his emails. I, on the other hand, opted for a less ambitious plan: a meandering stroll along the walkway between the apartment blocks and the beach, venturing as far as the tip of our frond before looping back via the Palm’s central linear park.

Observations on a walk:

Each apartment block has the standard trimmings: swimming pool, restaurant/bar, sun loungers (both patio and private beach varieties), and an obligatory security guard to glare at anyone who dares to sneeze in the wrong direction. Residents basked in the sun or picked at snacks, but not a soul ventured into the pools. It was as if water had suddenly gone out of fashion. Even the sea was unnervingly still, except for a lone scuba instructor leading two plucky clients on a not-so-wild underwater adventure.

The walkway itself was eerily devoid of life, save for the occasional uniformed staff shuffling between duties and a smattering of joggers giving the rubberised running track a half-hearted workout. I also encountered a few young Asian women pushing European-looking babies in prams, a tableau of cultural cross-pollination if ever there was one. Passing the overhead train station, I discovered that the first train doesn’t start until 9:25 a.m. and the last one finishes up at 10 p.m. This system wasn’t designed with the 9-to-5 crowd in mind. Here, the car reigns supreme, an unchallenged king in this city of motorised excess.

Of course, I didn’t spot anyone remotely close to my age.

Deliveroo riders were everywhere; you can hear their motorbikes buzzing like mosquitoes wherever you go. Each apartment block has a small supermarket tucked on the ground floor, and yet, the Palm’s inhabitants seem to delight in having even the simplest items delivered. Case in point: the other day, as we parked up at our block’s supermarket, a Deliveroo rider arrived with four 1-litre bottles of water from off-Palm! He rode the lift with us, dutifully delivering his precious cargo to an apartment on our floor. I couldn’t decide if the water was sourced from some mythical spring or if the resident was just too lazy to take the elevator downstairs.

Life on the Palm:

Life here has its perks. It’s a calm, well-manicured oasis amid the city’s gleaming chaos and traffic-choked streets. That said, it’s not without its annoyances: the incessant growl of supercars and the evening din of party boats could test the patience of a saint, or at least, my eardrums. This place was designed for the young, ambitious, and upwardly mobile. Alas, I am none of the above. Dubai may have its charms, but the Palm, with all its shimmering pretensions, isn’t for me.

I returned to the apartment just as Jamie completed his email marathon. After emptying the car of its detritus, he set off to explore the Palm on foot and buy a few presents. Meanwhile, I channelled my inner IT specialist, resetting the router and miraculously restoring the internet (why I didn’t think of that sooner is anyone’s guess).

For lunch, I resisted the siren call of Deliveroo and ventured downstairs to the supermarket. There, I procured a surprisingly satisfying salad hot dog sandwich, proving that sometimes, even the smallest efforts can yield great rewards.

Mid-afternoon, Jamie returned from his shopping trip, then promptly pulled on his swimming trunks and headed to the beach. I used my time to book a taxi for tomorrow’s early morning dash to the airport.

We chose to have our evening meal at a Lebanese restaurant in the Palm Mall. Later, as we had finished packing and tidying the apartment, there was a spectacular fireworks display over the Palm. We could only guess that the King had heard that we were leaving tomorrow and wanted to give us a good send off.