Our host’s birthday dinner for his wife was over the top and so was getting there. The host’s driver picked Laura and I up, and in the midst of all these crazy people golfing at night with bright lights (because of the daytime heat) to see at the country club, we were driven to the garbage area. We looked at each other and amidst gales of laughter, told “Ichbol” (no joke) to please get us to the entrance. We were not garbage……..
At the party, Laura and I dodged certain invites. The one we did accept was to go to the “Palm Island” development near the Burj hotel. Why wouldn’t we want to see a house that had just been featured in Dubai’s version of “House Beautiful? We weren’t crazy! And besides, we wanted to see how many 5000 square foot houses could be crammed onto a man-made island that looks like a palm frond from the sky. Well, Laura and I saw a magazine on Dubai’s movers and shakers that Myra (the hostess) had left on a coffee table…and WHO was staring back at us from an article on a recent art gallery opening? AMIR!!! Hmmmm Amir had been keeping his adventures secret. Plus we had just found out he’d become the underwear poster boy for Calvin Klein in the Middle East…..my, my, my, we’d have to have a little chat…
The next day, Laura and I took our hostess and her friend from Nice to tea at the Burj Hotel, the gorgeous hotel sitting out in the gulf that looks like a sail of a boat. FABULOUS. We knew it would break our personal piggy banks, but hey, you only live once (maybe) and it is VERY difficult to get in. We were out to find a contact that would get us in. Period.
We walked into a REAL Disneyland for adults. The exotic cars up on the circular drive were out of an auto show, the guards with wires in their ears were everywhere, like ants. The lower lobby entrance was nothing but gold this and that. But the most amazing sights were the two aquariums on either side of the sail-shaped walls in the lobby that seemed to go on forever. I was wild with excitement to see so many lovely tropical fish and rays. It was a pristine, clean and mesmerizing display that even Alladin could not have dreamed up
We went upstairs and were seated in the huge formal entertainment area, under the watchful eyes of ivory skinned Russian hostesses. The lovely chamber music group and the monotonous din of the crowd drowned out the very deep sighs that Laura and I gave out when we agreed to share the pricey tea tab that came to us on a silver platter.
During my remaining time in Dubai, Amir squired Laura and I to various venues: a very beautiful shopping mall with the most amazing architectural details, a performance by an Eastern musical group with the strangest of romantic instruments, FABULOUS rug stores ( I will only suggest 9 x 12 in any future, the prices are the best NOW). He took us to luxurious Restaurants, most of which did not serve liquor. The food is fresh; tomatoes and blood oranges with flavor to die for, and well….the coffee.
Laura’s driver was Thomas from Goa, India. He had worked for our hosts for years, spending long periods of time away from his family, working hard and sending money home. By the end of the two weeks I was with them, Laura had worked her caring magic and humor and Thomas was ours. Laura spoke to Thomas in a mock Indian voice, giving him hugs, while I was lying on the back seat of the SUV laughing myself silly.
One day close to my departure, Laura and I decided to go to the “Safest Way” to buy groceries, pharmaceuticals in the attached drug store, and COFFEE for me to bring home. A couple of nights before we had gone there, only to pass men at the corner bar sitting outside smoking their water pipes trying to ignore the two blondes passing to take possession of goodies to take home, things like false eyelashes which we decided to put on each other when we were to go out. We headed over to the store in the dreaded heat of day, hungry, without Amir. Thank goodness, no men outside with the water pipes.
But the prayer tape was going strong. We went into the store and I headed straight for the coffee. For some reason, maybe because I hadn’t eaten lunch, I started to have a meltdown. Life had for a few years dealt me some difficult blows and here I am in Dubai mumbling about the importance on the strength and grind of coffee and vacuum packed bags. I was trying to call Amir to get his advice. WHAT IS WRONG with this picture? Then trying to call Thomas…about coffee as he is running errands? I’d lost my marbles. I started to sit on the floor in front of the coffee. Yup, I sat on the floor in front of the coffee and stared to mumble. Women in burkhas were walking by me looking at the infidel blond on the floor holding a bag of coffee wishing Thomas would magically answer my prayers (not the minaret kind) and call me with a bean idea. I must have blacked out because there was a voice above me saying “BERG!!! you have a kilo of coffee in your hand, lying on the floor of Safest Way….are you still crazy, hungry, out of your mind, or just your normal self? I’m calling Thomas.” Magic words as I rolled my head over to look at her while clutching the finest grind I could find. Somehow, Laura got me up, gave me a bite of some food she had in her hand and then crawled to the pharmacy for false eyelashes, glue, and some sort of elixers that are not exported to the U.S. but would get by customs. It was one of my finer moments of survival and still managed to attain my goals: coffee and girl stuff. Thomas eventually showed up, rescued us from the heat and drove us the two blocks home past the water pipes. I love Thomas. I hope he has since visited Goa.
Dubai obviously was a source of crazy combinations of mass development, excitement, avarice, medical and monetary wonderment, but Laura and I wanted a piece of the desert. I, disappointingly, missed out on the chance to meet Sheik Ayoub and his stables of horses, but you can’t have it all in one trip. So, we signed up for a tour called: “The Desert Experience”. I just wanted the Arabian horse deal, not spitting camels, bad belly dancing, and henna tattoos, but what the heck. I agreed to Laura’s adventure. Our driver from the Sudan picked us up in the tour company’s SUV. He was young and cute, but missed Africa. He needed the bucks. We told him we did NOT want the crazy dune ride with wheelies, sands and possible a turnover in the desert. Surprisingly, a lot of other people shared our idea. There on the interminably long ride to the desert…EXPERIENCE…we passed other Sheiks houses. One in particular, on the highway stretch where the Sheiks live close to each other in compounds, was a massive, ominous, dark charcoal grey cement home with moats that you could see along the highway, and palm trees hiding most of the structure. I asked the driver who lived there about the story on that house. “Well, it is one of the eccentric Sheiks. In the moats are large crocodiles, eels, and poisonous water snakes.” “How far is the desert?”
We drove past one Sheik’s land where he lived on his property that was larger than all the land in Dubai. He could sustain everything that he needed to maintain his staff, land, water, and raise everything he needed. I asked the driver if we could stop where the Sheik kept his camels. HE STOPPED!! There Laura and I got out to get into the camel paddock. There were about thirty of the camels feeding on hay and turning to look at us with hay hanging out of their mouths. They were very cool. I went up to one ancient cart and petted them and put my arms around their necks. They were calm, sweet, and had the most amazing eyelashed eyes. I mentioned to Laura we needed to go back to the drug store…
The next thing I knew, a Range Rover drove up. A great looking Sheik type got out and spoke to our guide. Really thin and handsome in a long white robe and scarf. I nodded and Laura came over from the other camel cart to say hello. We went up to greet him and we were introduced to him as “the owner”. I thanked him and knew not to try to shake his hand as I noticed he wore a Patek Phillippe watch. He was the big Kahuna. Wow. Right there. He nodded his acceptance of our presence, told our driver we could stay as long as we wanted but it was off to the dune rides, (ick), belly dancing, lousy food, henna tattoos, bon fires, wild music, and CAMEL RIDES. ALL this we did and I don’t have my photos now as they are with a woman who is putting an album together but it was CRAZY.
As we were driving back in our tour SUV, our driver stopped and said; “You know, everyone knows YOUR George Bush planned 911.” I thought after his comment I’d jump over and grab his throat. He said “Everyone here knows it, you Americans are naive…..and-“. I told him to shut up and get us home. Good luck going back to the Sudan. Oddly enough, this is a very common Middle Eastern thought.
I escorted Laura through the gold market which is located within huge buildings that reek of urine. I tried to convince her that the gold trading was not held in little tents along the river. She decided that she would experience gold in a regular store, skip the stench of urine, saffron, water pipes, and instead go back to our executive haven with a five a.m. call to prayer.
I ended up with my beautiful rug, my goodbyes, and my flight to London through Munich. What happened in Munich was the icing on the Middle Eastern bread. The terminal where I was waiting for my connection was nearly empty. As I sat waiting, I saw an Indian guru or priest coming down the concourse heading STRAIGHT FOR ME. White beautiful hair, beard, and the most beautiful green eyes you ever saw. Yup, straight for me. He sat down next to me in one of the black leather chairs. He immediately picked up his legs and went into the lotus position. He motioned for me to do the same. Well I showed him because I got my legs up on that chair with perfect position. So there buddy. Next he put his hands in the open position and signaled for me to do the same. He closed his eyes and touched mine to do the same. He wanted me to meditate with him, surrounded by five leather-clad Germans trying not to notice. There we sat until he stopped and looked deep into my eyes. I took my phone and called Amir back in Dubai. Amir can speak any language. He answered. I asked him to talk to the Indian and find out what the Indian expected of me. In some sort of Goan dialect (I KNEW IT!!!) Amir translated that the guru wanted me to wind down and meditate for personal peace and let me (Debbie) find guidance and all would be better. Amir loved this and wanted to know how I got myself into this one. Then he said “Never mind, this is so you…do what he says, this is a gift”.
I took my flight to London with many thoughts of Kismet and that there truly are destinations we must seek to find. But the journey is worth it.
