The first time round, my story began as such:

www.dubai.co.ae: This website is currently under construction. And this is no joke. With 25% of the worlds cranes in this one city alone; Dubai or rather her sheik leadership, have taken it upon themselves to impress all of mankind, The tallest building, the largest airport, the palm island; yes- her makeover is phenomenal.

To give you an idea, Dubai was but a small coastal town sixty years ago. Then you strike oil, and a vision is born: to become the greatest. Wherever your tour bus leads, you will see cranes, workman, and temporary signs marking the latest detour for the road which was actually there 24hours ago. Blah blah…

With the economic crises however, the facts were altered somewhat, and hence the need for my second visit- which produced not much extra information, only a whole lot more fun (aided somewhat by the accompanying journalists from J’burg- a crazy two).

So we arrived Monday morning, the weather cooler than my first exposure to the dessert heat (last year August- this being their hottest month). Just before being whisked off to the Radisson hotel, I was asked by the curious Philippine who stood holding a board with my name on it, if South Africa was in the US, and how far J’burg was away from South Africa. It made for enjoyable 5am conversation.

Driven to the afore-mentioned Radisson, I enjoyed one of those movie moments: the one where you step into an 8-seater all to yourself, air-conditioner blowing on your face..until you finally pull into the drive just outside open lobby doors, where a smiling porter asks if he can please take your bags. I beam: a good start.

After a quick check-in and nicking of an apple from the lobby-counter, it’s then to the Dubai tourism office; where we are given the low-down of stats, projects and facts; I wont bore you though, so hold-up for the real stuff…

Straight from the office, we are then given a brief city tour by our trusty Rashid, complements of Lama Tours. Whether he or the tour was the complement though, I’m not too certain, for we sincerely came to enjoy our guide, and would highly recommend him! Back to our hotel though, we were in for a most decadent buffet. Being cheap journo’s though, we were adamant to reserve our first bite until we were certain that this was in fact on the house/hotel.

The rest of the day became an attempt to relax, much appreciated after our nine-hour flight. Night one, and we were left to ourselves. Located on the Deira side of the Creek, I remembered that you could take a dhow for 1 Dirham across the waters to Bur Dubai. To explain, the dhows are glorified taxis, falling apart and cheap. Arriving at the far side then, we were met with well-lit souks, and exotic looking Pakistani shoes ‘for sale’.

Awesome stuff, except for the fact that I only had Rands on my wallet: an ingenious move for the experienced traveler.

Not to worry, because an hour later we were seated at a quaint eatery right at the waters edge. Out came the cell phones, and all were calling loved ones to say that yes, we madams were in fact in Dubai, dining on humus and falafel, and drinking the thickest mango juice that side of the Gulf. End conversation: ‘Yes I know, and no- you may not carry my bags next time- love you…bye!’.

Day two, and after a late breakfast we were taken to Mall of the Emirates (which as all should know is home to that insanely impressive ski-slope). Gaining yet another peek, I entertained myself by a feeble attempt at entertain the others with random trivia gained from my previous trip…such as: the fact that the ‘Jumeira Janes’ (as they are referred to by all the ex-pats), get their early-morning exercise by power walking around the shopping centre. Spotting a few ladies marching up and down the escalator last year, water-bottles in their hand, I had sought an answer from my friend (an ex-pat herself), who had then bestowed this piece of information. 

Day two and the highlight came in the form of a trip to the Dubai Creek Golf and Yacht Club, a leafy course which seemed to grow out of the creek itself.  For the extreme golfers out there, Dubai won the title of “Emerging Golf Destination on the Year” in 2001 and judging by the quality of the course, clubhouses and restaurants, the award was a merited one.

After a tour of the estate and a sunset cruise on the creek/opportunity for sultry photo-shoot, we then dined at the Boardwalk Restaurant…after which we walked about twenty meters to the famous Qd’s for a spot of hubbly-bubbly, enjoyed from a reclining position on our Roman couches. Scoping out the Arabian (somewhat younger) potential on a coach opposite…we were only met with glares of disdain! This however I blame on the loudest member of our party, whose excitement at the whole experience was expressed two octaves higher. Better luck next time girls!

Wafi City and Cleopatra Spa! Impressive. Owned by one of the sheiks, this shopping experience (I wouldn’t degrade it with the word ‘mall’), prides itself in the uniqueness of its stores, of which I only really saw one, Memoirs, filled only with French and Italian collectables, reminded me of a Renaissance house of treasures. Its occupants (the shop-keepers), were dressed like educators from Harry Potter’s School of Magic, with every room in this house-sized ‘shop’ themed differently. I think the most obscure piece had to be the throne like chair, with its graveyard print and wooden handles; most likely destined for some Visigoth castle…

Then the interesting part…where I suddenly fell ill (somewhat chronically), and had to be wheeled to the first aid room. Touring from a wheelchair had to be a first, and can I recommend the medical facilities!

Recovering quickly however, I made it in time for the second-half of lunch, and so I found my way down to the Courtyard Restaurant in the Khan Murjan Souk. Dreamlike can only capture this setting, as my mind wondered to ancient lands, Persian Princesses and sands of infinity.  My imaginative wonderings however were aided by two Persian diners, seated at the next table. The girls and I could only admire…stately, they could have been royalty!

Followed…by a treatment at the Cleopatra Spa. Similar to my treatment in Mauritius, I was massaged by a miniature masseuse from Bali. And so I lay there staring through the head-piece at a bowl of floating flowers, my body releasing endorphins, my mind most contented by the current situation as some sort of Zen/Chinese music tripped its way through the atmosphere. As one journalist described, it was a sensual experience.

Only to rest my head…on a pillow most generously provided for by the Qamardeen Hotel, located in The Old Town. My sixth floor room was most luxurious, and as the view filtered through my window that night, I topped off the happy experience with some decadent dark chocolate, which had found its way to my boudoir by the shadows of room-service. (Ever noticed the way you never actually see them- kind of creepy really.)

So situated in the same district as the worlds tallest building, staying at the hotel had an air of importance to it…as if we were at the earth’s central point; where history lay in the making/construction.

The final day, and we were chivied to Atlantis, The Palm- Sol Kersner’s very own. Situated at the most northern point of the island, the seven-star hotel holds itself proudly, its Arabian arch poised as if guarding the entrance to the seas beyond. Lunch and a quick tour, the other highlight was the water-park; with one of its most well-known slides being practically vertical, leading through the shark-tank, only to dump you in the pool of refreshing! For the kids (and me), this would count in the top ten.

So leaving the Palm, it was straight to Bab Al Shams for a final dessert safari. Advised not to eat anything after 12pm, we had eaten lunch at 2.40, which made for interesting stomach talk on the 4/4 trip to the oasis, where we were destined for camel rides, belly dancing, henna tattoos and an Arabian dinner. Amongst the group were about forty Italians, whose only exclamation upon being released from the vehicles was a vociferous: ‘Porca Miseria’! Poor wops. (Relax, I’m one.)

The evening passed, wait for it- in the rain! And afterwards it was straight to the airport for a long flight home. So while the henna took a week to vanish from my hand, the memories remain- good ones, mystical and unique in formation. Big ups to my travel companions…see you in Seychelles?