Day 2: Dubai and the Dancing Russians

Dubai

Naeem Randhawa

July 5, 2008

The jet rumbles, as it thrusts forward and begins its run down the track. Pamir flight NR 202, ten in the morning. Sunday. We're on time, and I'm staring at the back of the seat in front of me, the Boeing 737 must be at least twenty years old, maybe more. There's threads loose in the seat, the interior still bears the design from older days, 70's or 80's. The Russian crew, wearing deadpan faces as they guided the passengers in. There's around a hundred or so, mostly Afghans, with a few of us Americans mixed in there.

In the lounge, I watched the Afghans get ready for the flight, a mix of families, young men, kids, a few women in burqas. A little girl, maybe four, playing with her pink Pony Princess carry-on, wearing jeans and a pink top, a man in his mid fifties, wearing the traditional outfit, shalwar kamiz, black vest, and a head scarf, looking like a Haji, all eager to get home. And a few of us Americans, trying to fit in, trying not to look out of place, or nervous.

The flight last night from Atlanta, was too long, I shared a row of three seats with another American, she's also on her way to Kabul, to start a two year engagement with an aid agency. We swapped stories for a while, and slept in uncomfortable positions the rest of the way. I got in to Dubai in the evening around seven.

Dubai is still the crystal covered paradox that I remember from last year. After checking in at the Lotus Hotel, a few miles from the airport, I stepped out in the hot and humid evening. Walking around the city is to experience a mad mix of West and East clash of culture, architecture and progress. If you took that walk, here what you might pass on your way; McDonald's, Hardees, a Mosque, a master development company, a steel distributor, Aldo's, Mark and Spencers, a sprawling upscale shopping mall, another Mosque, Dubai Lamborghini, Burger King, Dubai Harley Davidson, Dubai tourism operator, more development companies, a brick manufacturer, Nike outlet, Pierre Cardin store, a local hole in the wall Indian restaurant, an antiques dealer, Toyota dealership with a sign that reads "Now Open 7 Days a Week", and Internet cafe, and on and on.

I was tempted to try the McDonald's out of curiosity, but decided against it. I ducked into a small hole-in-the-wall restaurant. Out in front, facing the street, an Indian or Pakistani man, probably in his fifties, was sweating over open flames, as he prepared a pair of spits of chicken and beef. Inside, young men from the sub-Continent ran around serving the mostly labor class. I took an empty table, ordered a shawarma sandwich, and a lemon mint drink. Half way through my sandwich, an older Arab took the seat in front of me, surprising me. I had forgotten how the circle of personal space is much wider only in America, and in most of Asia, it's perfectly normal to sit next to another man without any hesitation. It's even "normal" for two men to hold hands, something that always makes me very uncomfortable - but only because it's not something I'm used to. The skinny old Arab wore the traditional full white garb, but his clothing had seen plenty of wear, and some tear. He wore thick glasses, and seemed pleasant enough. I finished up, and went to pay at the cash. I decided to give the Indian guy taking my money and extra five bucks to cover the old man's meal. No sweat off my back, and there's plenty I'm needing to atone for - hoping the Big Guy was watching.

It was nearly ten pm, when I got back to the Lotus, and on crossing through the lobby, I decided to stick my neck into the restaurant on the first floor, from where I could hear pounding music. I pushed open the doors into the restaurant-bar, inside the lights were turned down. The music I was hearing wasn't from a stereo or DJ, it was coming from the three blondes dressed in tight shorts, and even tighter t-shirts. The blondes were crooning Madonna's latest hit, and gyrating to the music, the lead singer wailing the disco hit, and her two females backup singers chiming in at the chorus. The Russians were entertaining the local crowd. In the dim light I could make out about a dozen men, half of them in the traditional white garb, smoking cigarettes and hookah, booze all around the tables and bar. An Indian came up to me, guiding me to a table, I held up my hand, and told him I was looking for someone. I'm not sure why I lied, I guess it was easier than explaining that I only just curious. I turned and left.

I woke up at three in the morning, the jet lag was kicking in, I couldn't get back to sleep. At quarter to five, I heard the Azan outside, as I got up, took my shower and decided to pray, I thought of the men in the bar, and the dancing Russian ladies from last night. Dubai is a wild world.

I caught up with my fellow passengers a little later on, at the Pamir Air lounge in Dubai airport. The airport itself is also part of Dubai's commercial glittering sprawl, with it's designer stores, and high end fashion boutiques. A crystal decanter was unveiled at the airport Duty Free, and is on display, designed by Karim Rashid, who I'm assuming is Muslim. A Muslim designs a decanter for the Bombay Sapphire company for consuming alcohol - as I said, it's a mad mix. I thought about buying one, but decided that it was probably overkill for orange juice or water, oh yeah, and the price was slightly out of my price-range at two hundred thousand dollars. Did I mention, it's made of diamonds and sapphires?

The much less to do crowd of Afghans, and I got on the flight, and left the dust a few hours ago. The meals been served, now the crowd around me is getting comfortable, and people are beginning to doze off. I decide to do the same - and ease my seat back. I look around and see the older man, the Haji, and the little Pony Princess girl, we walked on board with. The older man, with his left eye missing, and the little girl whose missing her left hand. I breathe in and close my eyes and anticipate Kabul.