Unreal reality

I am looking out the window as we approach Abu Dhabi airport. I've done this so many times you'd think I should be reading my newspaper instead, but the views never cease to amaze me. In fact, before I talk about the views coming into Abu Dhabi, let me say a quick word about the views coming into Muscat: Stunning.

Oman from the air

Actually, perhaps I should say more than just one word. If I were a geologist, which I am not - although sometimes I get mistaken for one - I would definitely get really excited by the approach into Muscat. Even as a non-geologist I cannot help but be seriously impressed by the stunning mountain formations that encircle Muscat and in fact are present all along the north-eastern part of Oman. I could go on about this being an incredible example of fold-thrust belts and tectonic movement. Suffice to say they are some pretty impressive rocks!

But back to Abu Dhabi, where we are still on the final approach into Abu Dhabi International airport. It's desert and it's flat. By rights there should be nothing here but sand as far as the eye can see. And there's certainly sand - lots of it - but scattered amongst the lines of dunes are geometrical shapes on a massive scale. Totally out of place and totally artificial, but impressive nonetheless. Evidence of man's efforts to outsmart nature is everywhere. Patches of green are juxtaposed against the dull beige sand. Long lines of motorways, dead straight, head off into the distance. Those motorways have strips of green along them - hundreds of kilometres of it. There are neat parallel rows of trees - probably hundreds (thousands?) of hectares of them. As we get a little closer to Abu Dhabi the "suburbs" come into view. I cannot help but be impressed by the sheer scale of what man has done here, and I am equally impressed by the perfectly symmetrical layouts of the housing estates. I am appalled and impressed in equal measure. Those housing estates have been designed to be geometrically impressive from above, with circles and wavy lines in amongst the straight lines of the through roads; the engineer in me is seriously impressed by how they manage to get all those lines so straight and get those shapes so symmetrical on such a scale. Each intersection is a perfect circle roundabout. Mosques are spaced at regular intervals.

Everything is artificial however. Not only that, everything green was to be artificially watered, and that water has to be artificially created. The massive desalination plants in Abu Dhabi are probably the largest in the world (The UAE could have a similar slogan to Texas: "everything is bigger in the UAE"). To be fair, the irrigation uses mostly wastewater - so the desalinated seawater is at least used twice, Virtually all of the power to run the desalination plants - and power all the lights along those hundreds of kilometres of road and to run all the millions of air conditioners necessary to make it actually possible to live in those houses - comes from fossil fuels. The carbon footprint of this part of the world must be stunning. It must be said, however, that there is a recognition of this and there are efforts being made to introduce renewable energy sources.

Yas Island

Further on the approach, we fly over Yas Island, which sort of typifies the whole "if we want it, we'll have it made" approach. The shallow waters - a gorgeous pale blue colour - have clear navigation channels dredged in them to lead to the rather out of place marina (a marina in the desert?) There's one of the many gorgeous - green - golf courses and of course the now-iconic Ferrari World. The blue F1 track stands out as we pass low over it on final approach.


Looking out over all this man-made geometrical perfection, I can't help wondering what will happen when the oil runs out and the lights go out. Not having any drinking water is going to make life pretty uncomfortable to say the least and I imagine not much of that green stuff will stay green for very long without constant irrigation. At least there's plenty of sunshine, so if solar power systems have indeed been implemented by then there may be some chance of this place not simply returning to its natural state as the desert blows back in over the deserted (and as soon as I typed that, I realise what a great example of an unintended play on words that is) streets and housing estates.

Browsing the web on this subject I came across a terrific example of the sort of thing I'm talking about. Not Abu Dhabi, but its more brash neighbour, Dubai. These two images are taken only 25 years apart! I wonder what it will look like in another 25 or 50 years? The images show the Emirates Golf Club. Notice also in the background (top right) of the 2013 image the artificial island (there are rather a lot of these in this area).

Emirates Golf Club - 1988

Emirates Golf Club - 2013

List "A"

I happen to be standing near an escalator at Abu Dhabi airport. This is not something I normally do a lot of, but I've stopped to check the boarding time for my flight. In front of me is an ATM that dispenses gold bullion. But it's out of order and hemmed in with discarded trolleys. Where else would you find a gold ATM so casually treated? And in front of me is the escalator going down to the departure level where the buses leave from, which is where I will be heading.

The escalator has poles in front of the entrance spaced so that you can't take a trolley onto the escalator. People are walking through, pulling their wheeled bags behind them. I am looking at the different people as they rush by and as always I am impressed by how people come in all sorts of shapes and sizes, wearing an amazing variety of different clothes, from the businessmen in their suits and ties (I've never understood why you'd wear a suit and tie on a long haul flight) to those wearing shorts and thongs (flip flops). Along come two large African ladies. The first has a toddler with her and another child tied to her back with a batik cloth. That brings back all sorts of memories from my time on Africa, where seeing large women with babies tied to their backs, their little feet poking out in front front beneath voluminous brightly coloured batik cloth, is a very common sight. The next lady is not just a large woman, she is a very large woman, not atypical of what you often see in Africa. She's too wide to make it through the poles; now that is impressive! She manoeuvres herself past the poles around the side - she's obviously done that before - and continues on without missing a beat.

At my destination airport there is an interesting demonstration of the type of discrimination that is normal in this part of the world. There's a very clearly defined social and ethnic hierarchy here: a place for everyone, as long as everyone knows their place. Most nationalities (those on "list A") are entitled to obtain a visa on arrival here. The relatively small group of people from these countries that has arrived on the morning's flights is being served by some six immigration officers and the line moves quickly. We are flanked on both sides by several hundred Indian (and probably also Pakistani and Bangladeshi) arrivals - who are almost certainly here to perform the manual labour and other tasks that local people will not or cannot. This select group of several hundred arrivals is being served by what appears to be only two or three officers and there is not a lot of movement visible. Given the number of people I guess that many of them have been waiting for what may well be hours. I have to admit that I'm glad that I'm in list "A".

When I get to the baggage area it's pandemonium, although in a vaguely organised way. There's bags from four flights on my carousel and I start to look for my bag on the moving belt. Then I realise that the entire floor area around the carousel is covered by luggage which had clearly been removed from the belt already since the belt is woefully overloaded. So now I don't know whether my bag is already amongst the piles on the floor or whether it still has to arrive! I start wandering amongst the piles of suitcases and bags and still haven't found mine after my second round, even though bags from my flight are clearly amongst those on the floor. It's not looking good. Eventually I spot my suitcase trundling along the belt, and I can make good my escape from the luggage area. Lots of people are milling around but not many are actually getting their bags. I wonder where the owners of all those bags are? Then I realise they are probably not on list "A", so it's going to be a while before the bags find their owners.

Are you my luggage?

After putting my bag through the X-ray machine (which I am convinced is more for show than to actually serve much useful purpose) I am ejected though the sliding doors to be greeted by rows of Indian faces, interspersed occasionally by hotel drivers (many in their company livery) holding up signs with the name of their passenger, trying to make eye contact hoping I might be the one. I have to disappoint all of them, even while they are disappointing me, since I am also looking for my driver, without - of course - knowing what he looks like. But finally I spot a familiar sign and although he doesn't appear to speak a word of English, we get along famously. Until, that is, I discover he's also waiting for a second passenger, who it turns out is not in list "A".

Once we are finally on the road from the airport, my driver impresses me once more when it becomes clear he doesn't know which hotel I am supposed to be taken to. Now you'd think that perhaps he might have thought of this small detail before we set off (or even before he came to the airport), but I guess that's expecting too much. So we stop on the side of the motorway so I can get some paperwork from my bag, we make a phone call (where would we be without mobile phones nowadays?) to a translator, and we're in business.

My hotel is new and rather stark. The decor is colourful, which somehow conveys an ambience of cheapness. As I walk into the bathroom I think to myself "this is the kind of hotel where there's a squeeze bottle dispenser of body and hair wash screwed to the wall in the shower so the guests can't steal the soap" and sure enough, there it is, in pride of place in the shower. I support I am going to have to go for a walk to the local Lulu (supermarket) to buy myself some soap. Luckily it's winter, so it won't get much hotter than 26 degrees (C) today. I know there's a Lulu nearby from my research before coming and I take a peek out the window to see if I can spot it to judge the distance. It turns out that I have a room with a view - of a construction site. The sun glares straight into the window, making for an interesting reflection.

Room with a view (the Lulu supermarket is in the distance on the right)

Back in the UAE

So I am (back) in Abu Dhabi for a week. It's summer (although not the hottest part) and the temperature hovers in the low 40's (C) during the day. Everyone retreats to the air-conditioned comfort of some luxury hotel, their luxury car, or a luxury shopping mall. Everyone that is, except for the migrant construction workers who are still being bused* to and from their non air-conditioned quarters (which, complete with corrugated iron roofs, make ideal saunas) in non air-conditioned buses. At least the bus windows open.

I am inside all day since I'm working. I don't venture outside until the late afternoon, when the sun's direct heat has retreated and I only have the 40 degree heat to deal with. I want to cross the road outside the hotel but it's turned into something like a ten-lane divided freeway since the opening of the Salam Street tunnel. Luckily I remember how Abu Dhabi has a network of pedestrian subways (rarely used, since there are relatively few pedestrians, and apart from the subways, not much pedestrian-friendly ground to walk on). These are grandly built with walls of tiled artwork. Like much of the infrastructure, maintenance and longevity are less of a concern, so things degrade quickly. Paving and brickwork is cracked and broken, drains, when there are any, are blocked or broken (or uncovered). A pity.

Pedestrian underpass - desert camel racing scenes in this one

* Annoying, isn't it? When you write an apparently simple word and all of a sudden your thought flow comes to a crashing stop when you can't convince yourself whether you've spelled (or spelt) it correctly! Being transported by a bus (of which more than one would be buses, while 'busses' is tempting) is being bused. But that looks a lot like 'abused' without the 'a', so can it be correct? A quick search digs up 'buss', which is a form of oral communication, so being 'bussed' is definitely something different to being transported mechanically. So 'bused' it is then.

Dubai police car - if you can't beat them, join them!

Here the people's car is a Toyota Landcruiser - the most expensive V8 model of course. In white. Given that there's so many BMW X5 and X6s and Range Rovers on the roads they are now a bit passé. The Porsche Cayenne is still popular, although you'll definitely not stand out in the crowd driving one of those. Having a Porsche is not something particularly special here. Something more exotic (and expensive) is required. Perhaps an Audi R8, or why not a Bugatti Veyron or Lamborghini?

In a country where the police (in Dubai) have cars like a BMW M6, Mercedes AMG SLS, and Lamborghini Aventador, you need to make the effort to stand out from the crowd with your car.

I am staying in one of the luxury hotels on the island. Actually "luxury hotel" is almost a tautology here; every hotel is "luxury" by the standards of any other place. The forecourt is - as is the norm - crowded with valet-parked fancy cars: from BMW and Mercedes to Porsches, Bentleys, the odd Aston Martin and Ferrari. Footpaths are for cars, not people and to get to the front door you have to negotiate this parking lot. I meet up with some old colleagues. One arrives in his Porsche and the other turns up in his Aston Martin DB9. And there I am thinking that when I had a car here I was driving a Nissan Tiida....

A novel use of 4WD to get over the traffic?

The class I am teaching is almost monochrome. I look out at a sea of white on one side and black on the other. Boys on one side in their white dishdashes (traditional male dress) and the girls on the other side in their black abayas. An occasional splash of colour is provided by the few expatriates in the class. Coffee breaks inevitably turn into very  lengthy affairs. Speaking of coffee, one morning one of the girls pulls out a Harrods bag and from it produces a large decorated ceramic coffee pot (with gilded decoration), a doily, and a set of ceramic coffee cups. I'm impressed. When I question her about it, she explains: "It's local coffee - I couldn't live without my coffee". She proceeds to offer coffee to others and the coffee break turns into a long local social event. The room is always fragrant, smelling of the typical woody local perfumes of oud and bukhoor, which are worn liberally by the men.

At dinner at one of the restaurants I am, as usual, dining alone. So I engage myself in some people watching which waiting for my meal. There's a young Emirati couple. He's in his sparkling white dishdash; she's in her black abaya, carrying the de rigueur large and obviously expensive handbag (with a large gold chain) and large sunglasses. It always impresses me when people wear sunglasses indoors. The couple arrives, are seated, and proceed to extract their smartphones (she from her handbag, he from the specially-designed pocket in his dishdash). I briefly reflect on whether traditionally, when people were still riding camels and living a nomadic life in the desert,  the dishdashes had phone-pockets. The restaurants "no shorts or slippers" dress policy clearly doesn't apply to the sandals traditionally worn by the local men.

Neither has said a word to each other; they are engrossed by their smartphones. They are briefly interrupted by the waitress - who, of course, is Filipino, like virtually all hospitality staff in the UAE - and then revert back to their phones. Throughout the entire meal they are engaged with their phones, but not each other. And while I eat my meal I'm wondering how it is that Emirati men manage to keep their dishdashes so brilliantly white and free of creases.