Across from our building, several 50- or 60-floor high-rises are being raised. Strangely peaceful, sky-scraping cranes swing their loads through the 40-degree air and brisk orange service elevators glide up and down the half-finished towers. This particular area of development is called Business Bay, the "Bay" part referring to plans for linking the winding westward canal extensions of Dubai Creek with the Persian Gulf. According to The Book, (Dubai Explorer, the essential reference for newbies), this development will be a self-contained mini-city and the commercial hub of Dubai. Eventually, our own Millennium Tower will be joined by 70 other cloud-catching buildings.
For the time being, however, good ol' Mill-T is one of the only inhabited buildings as far as I can tell. And as such, we're basically living in the middle of a giant construction zone. When Business Bay is finished, paved roads, feature fountains and shops will fill this area, but at the moment, we're surrounded by big, bristling piles of construction debris bisected by bumpy sand tracks. If C hadn't warned me, I would have been sure that my taxi driver was taking me somewhere very unpleasant when I first arrived from the airport.
The Persian Gulf itself is visible as a hazy grey-blue band to the right of our northwest-facing windows. On clear days, C says you can see "The World," a huge cluster of artificial islands roughly representing a map of the globe. This development is supposed to be finished in 2009 and no word yet on whether Baffin Island is still up for grabs.
We experienced the height of pre-Ramadan prep yesterday evening at the aptly-named HyperPanda big box store. Picture a sprawling hybrid of Walmart and Loblaws at 7 p.m. on Christmas Eve, and you'll have a sense of the atmosphere - minus the Christmas gear, of course. We stood in line to have a fresh pineapple peeled and cored, and along with many others, added a container of almonds wrapped in dates to our cart. Around us, women in flowing black robes called abayas selected the ingredients for the Iftar (night-time fast-breaking) feasts. Most had designer handbags - or very reasonable facsimiles - tucked beneath their arms. The abayas often had beautiful embroidery in jewel colours or flashed with sequins and beading. They make for a very elegant look, plus gives one the option of eating too much and walking around with unbuttoned pants in public. At least, that's what I'd be doing.
The abaya-wrapped ladies also wear a black head-scarf, called a sheyla. In some cases, the sheyla is wrapped around the face as well, but often women's faces were visible. Big hairdo's, heavy foundation and Tammy Faye-inspired mascara application seemed to be favoured, but that's just first impressions.
Many men also wear the region's traditional clothing: for them, it's a flawless white shirt-dress and a white or red checked head-dress called a gutra. The gutra is topped with a double-looped black cord, an agal. (All of this terminology is straight from my reference book, by the way, so no guarantees I've gotten it right).
Of course, there were lots of other people wearing a wide variety of clothing - from Indian saris to Westerners in their jeans and tees. It's a real fashion free-for-all, excepting that I didn't see anyone wearing anything too revealing or sexy-time. No bared tramp-stamps, mini-skirts or short-shorts, for example.
Once my moving-bruises fade (particularly a lovely purple sunset on one leg, received after falling off a stepladder onto a rather unforgiving corner of the bed-frame), I'll be in skirts a lot, I think. It's just too hot for pants. As for C, he's broken out his blue and green mini-palm-tree shirt that wouldn't be amiss on a Jimmy Buffett background dancer, if Jimmy had those. Ever secure in his fashion selections, my husband simply smiles when I suggest that he looks a little Clark-Griswold-Does-Dubai. I guess I'm not really one to talk when it comes to fashion faux pas, however....
Back to the heat, though - the sauna-like, fork-not-a-spoon soupy heat that covers you like a hot wet quilt as soon as you step outside. I can see why people spend a lot of time in the blissfully-AC'd malls during the summer, and I cannot imagine walking around for more than a few minutes outside. It's a little embarrassing to be the wilting Westerner when lots of other folks from warm climates seem a lot more comfortable, but that's my heritage I suppose. Maybe seeing me nearly pass out during the 30-second walk from our rental car to the mall entrance helps everyone else feel better - "Well, at least I'm not as hot and bothered as THAT chick. And why doesn't she have any melanin in her skin?"
Well, time for breakfast. We discussed observing daylight fasting for Ramadan this year, but because of my serious jet-lag (4 coffees yesterday and several attempts to nap on mall benches), our plan to spend long days navigating the crazy roads in search of furniture, and of course, C's need to stay focused for his intensive training flights, we've decided that we might try it next year. We do plan to participate in some of the humanitarian activities associated with the holy month: for example, we heard yesterday on the radio that one of the hotels will be collecting shoe-boxes that people fill with basic toiletries and other small personal items for the hard-working construction labourers. Considering these guys are also our neighbours, I think that's the least we can do!
Next entry: the best food-court meal ever, "No Hair Fall Out" products, and whatever results from today's visits to the non-AC'd furniture warehouses along Sheikh Zayad Road. Wish us luck, and Ramadan Saeed!
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