Whenever I’m in an airport, I do things that I don’t usually do in the outside world. Eat candy bars, spend $5.95 on a small pack of spicy dried peas, watch cycles of CNN, read crappy fashion magazines that run the same five articles over and over and over. Alright, I do these things in non-airport settings, but not without at least a twinge of guilt. At JFK or LAX or SFO, however, these actions all feel fine, good and normal. I think its something to do with being in transit, and not really on the grounds of any city, state or country. As long as I’m not really anywhere, my actions don’t count, right? I think a lot of people must experience this sentiment, as there are always plenty of overpriced, mediocre stores in airports, which probably wouldn’t do so well outside the terminals.
Dubai, to an extent, feels like an airport—a very hot, large airport. Right now I’m sitting on a balcony, overlooking a parking lot where each individual car has its own little hanger, or canvas covering that protects it from the oppressive rays of sun. On the right there is a long stretch of highway that seems relatively empty, at least for its size. The roads here are clearer and less congested these days, as more and more people are leaving this city. As cars speed down it I can almost imagine them taking off at the edge of the hazy horizon.
I studied a few phrases of Arabic before coming here, but I’ve only had a few opportunities to use them. Like I said in my last post, 85% of people here are from other countries, and on any given day, I meet people from five different continents. The taxi driver is Pakistani, the grocer is Filipina, the saleswoman at the upscale shoe shop is Lithuanian. I’ve had conversations with people from Nepal, India, Australia, Cameroon, Sri Lanka, Nigeria, South Africa, Poland, Latvia, China, Lebanon, Jordan, Iran, Russia and Afghanistan and only had one or two interactions with actual Emeratis. I have the perpetual airport feeling, like I’m not really anywhere. Here, drinking bottled water, taking long, expensive taxi rides and consuming copious amounts of candy seem totally fine. And, once again, I observe an overabundance of overpriced boutiques. I have to constantly remind myself that I am in the Middle East, in a country that does have a specific culture and history.
Most people come here to work for two or three years, and then leave to go back home. Its as if people that I meet are here on some very long, long layovers. It wouldn’t be right to push this comparison too hard, and compare the laziness and emptiness of airport waiting to the real, challenging, hard work that people perform here. And, I’m sure that if I stayed here longer, I would get a better picture of Emerati life and culture, meet some of the people who live here and learn about their aspirations, hopes and plans. But, in these past weeks, it has been difficult to find someone who calls Dubai home, who has settled here for good and plans to grow old in this city.
