As seen in The Globe & Mail
I’m on top of the world: literally.
From the infinity pool at Aura Skypool, some 210-metres above sea level, I can see the city of Dubai expanding across what not long ago, was mere desert. I see stretches of sparkling water and the Palm Jumeirah, a man-made island shaped like a palm leaf that’s home to luxury hotels and multimillion-dollar mansions.
In the distance, the world’s tallest building, the 830-metre high Burj Khalifa, reaches into the clouds next to Dubai Mall, more than 12 million square feet of high-end stores, including an amusement park, an Olympic-sized skating rink and one of the world’s largest aquariums.
Dubai is a spectacle. No expense has been spared. Everywhere I look, I see spotless, roomy sidewalks, sparkling lights, luxury vehicles and skyscrapers. Even Emirates, the state-owned airline, offers one of the most luxurious experiences in the sky, as first class passengers can take a shower on its A380 jet.
Whispers among drivers, hotel staff and expats, however, say that Dubai’s many engineering feats stem from the fragile ego of Emirati royalty. For example, the Al Kazim Towers were built after Sheikh Mohammed bin Rashid Al Maktoum went to New York and loved the Chrysler Building so much, he built two in Dubai, side by side. Another story is that he heard Saudi Arabia was planning to build the Jeddah Towers, taller than the Burj Khalifa. As these buildings began construction, the Sheik commissioned an even taller tower in Dubai to ensure the world record stayed in his city. This project has yet to be confirmed.
Dubai is all about opulence, but the longer I’m here, the more it feels like the testosterone-fuelled egocentric myths are true. I’m in a global game of “anything you can do; I can do better.” Although my visit was seven months ago, I wonder if the more than 70,000 people milling about for the COP28 climate conference feel the same way.
During my visit, it feels like the city is under constant construction with active building sites lining the streets, advertising luxury living in condos with personal plunge pools, 24-hour concierges and valets for the many Lamborghinis I see on the road.
The city is “a symbol of globalization,” says Dr. Robert Huish, associate professor of international development studies at Dalhousie University in Halifax. “They have created unimaginable luxury with migrating and marginalized labour. The UAE is a ‘new’ place in terms of governance. They skipped regional autonomy and went straight to global representation. So, while this is a very culturally rich part of the world, any culture you see here is now from the immigrants.”
As of August, 2023, 3.61 million live in Dubai. But only 11 per cent are Emirati. More than a third of the population is from neighbouring India and Pakistan.
It’s a lot to think about as I sit in the sky-high lounge, sipping my margarita and feeling guilty. Is this extreme luxury and skyline of phallic symbols hiding a more nefarious culture of exploitation? Is there still Arabian culture here? Where can I find the soul of this city?
I decided to find out.
I’m staying in a lavish hotel near the Dubai marina. When I first enter the lobby of W Dubai – Mina Seyahi, I ooh and ahh over the colourful tiled floors, the gold beads hanging from the ceiling and the eye-catching wall art. But I am doubtful that I will find any connection to Dubai’s soul, and it isn’t until the front desk manager, Moussa Abboud, walks me through the hotel that I begin to understand how much this property reflects authentic Arabic tradition.
“This is a wall of story beads,” Abboud tells me, gesturing to a stretching panel of oversized white spheres, decorated in black, curved Arabic characters. “Each represents one of the 99 prayers that praise God. They are to remind us of our past and connect us to the present.”
He guides me through the rest of the hotel, pointing out the curated furniture and décor that pays homage to Arabic legends. I hear the passion in his voice, and the deep connection to his people and his past.
That afternoon, I stand at the Dubai Creek, a 10 kilometre saltwater inlet that separates the city into two parts: Bur Dubai and Deira. Across the water is the Old City, with souks selling gold, spices, textiles and more. To cross the river, I must take an abra, a traditional wooden boat.
It’s a short ride to the bustling market. The merchants are busy, noisy and I feel like a magpie, constantly distracted by another shiny trinket. It seems as if everyone is here: expats, migrants, tourists, locals. And although this is meant to represent authentic Dubai, I can’t help but wonder if this is the truest depiction of modern Dubai; a collection of different people and places, all playing their part in the diverse Middle East. Is this the true soul of this place?
Later that day, I find myself at Arabian Tea House, a traditional Emirati restaurant that opened in 1997, tucked into the historic neighbourhood of Al Fahidi. I push through the beaded curtains of the front entryway and am immediately transported to a café of long ago. Turquoise benches line large white tables in the shade of an old Sidr tree, while pink flowers drape the white, wooden pergolas overhead.
I sit in this indoor garden and am greeted with gahwa (Arabic coffee) and a local breakfast of za’atar (a Middle Eastern spice blend) with olive oil, labneh (strained yogurt), rose jam, halloumi and scrambled eggs. Around me, families are enjoying their own breakfast trays, wearing flowing abaya robes. They are chatting, laughing, relaxing and enjoying the air conditioning between sips of herbal tea and bites of pita bread. It feels like a place of warmth and welcome, a contrast from the starkness I’ve seen so far.
The restaurant manager comes to the table to check in. Our conversation turns sentimental, and he regales me with stories of his own family, their breakfast rituals, the sharing of ancient Arabic tales and lore. I wonder if I may have been wrong. Perhaps there is a deeper Dubai.
This city is built to leave a visitor dazzled by luxury and grandeur. But when you visit (because you should), you’ll need to dig a little deeper for that authentic Arabian soul.
The writer travelled as a guest of Emirates Airlines and Visit Dubai. Neither reviewed or approved the story before publication.