Dune Buggies in Boomtown Dubai

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“Welcome, welcome to the boomtown
All that money makes such a succulent sound
Welcome to the boomtown”
- David & David

Boomtown Dubai. A Development Supernova! Imagine if you will, one hundred skyscrapers being constructed simultaneously, in a development that will instantly create a city. Now imagine ten of these developments, all within 20kms of each other. And a new one announced every month. Dubai is not so much a city as the World’s Biggest Construction Site, a shrine to excess and one man’s incredible vision to build a world center in a desert. Excess? The World’s Biggest Shopping Mall. The World’s Biggest Theme Park. The World’s Tallest Hotel. The World’s First Underwater Hotel. The World’s Richest Horserace. Three man-made island developments you will see with the naked eye from space. And, when it is completed, the Burj Dubai will be the World’s Tallest Building. Dubai is what Vegas dreams of becoming when it grows up.

I arrived on Emirates (The World’s Number One Airline). Cameras attached to the cockpit allowed me to see the pilots view from my seat-back screen. Lights stretched out across a pancake flatland into the horizon, with the darkness and heat fog making the air look like ectoplasm. Coming off a scorching summer, the temperatures were cooling down in early September…around mid 40C in the day. The pilot announced that temperatures were a cool 35C on the ground, this being one am in the morning. Due to construction (for what will no doubt be the World’s Best Airport), we had to de-board on the ground. The heat enveloped me, signed, stamped and delivered my skinny legs to Sweatsville. My body felt like your tongue when you burn it on hot cheese. Inside the bus, the air conditioning was a relief, even a little cold, but a quick jump onto the tarmac to get into the terminal sizzled through my sandals. A pattern was clear. Cool. Heat. Cool. Heat. My immune system organized a protest rally, and according to the CNN, violence broke out between heavily armed Sinus supporters and armed White Blood Cells. Inside the airport, there was a 90-minute wait at passport control. Surrounding me were an international smorgasbord of travelers; Indian businessman, Arab millionaires, Palestinian refugees, Russian hookers, Japanese tourists, and women dressed head to toe in black robes, complete with leather gloves. With a population of 1.2 million, Dubai only has about a couple hundred thousand locals, the rest are migrant laborers from India, Pakistan, Philippines and Malaysia, not to mention the UK and USA. The guy in the line warns me of ever-present blonde Russian hookers, “There are 200 000 of them in Dubai!” he tells me, shaking his head in disapproval, as if they were an unpopular teenage accessory.

Murphy’s Law states that the ONE time someone will be waiting for me at the airport will be the ONE time I’ll get held up for hours. My hosts, Arthur and Maureen, were kept waiting for three hours, outside, without air-conditioning, with an agitated mob of taxi drivers. Thank God. This is not the place for the budget traveller. No long strolls in the streets here. Driving on the highway, I stared out the window at the construction site that stretched as far the eye could see.

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