Dubai World Cup: is this a joke?

It's been awhile since the last post, as I was hoping to get some good material at the Dubai World Cup, which was today. The world's richest race (a total of $21.25 million shelled out in a total of 7 races) surely would provide great entertainment as well as enjoyment, right? Au contraire, mon frere.

I bought my ticket online for this event ages ago--before I even arrived in Dubai. The race track is in the middle of the desert, ergo I figured I'd pick up my ticket the day of the race, because who has the time to go all the way into the middle of the desert twice in one week? Lots of other people had this idea as well, so that when we finally go through the hour of traffic to get to the racetrack, there was a line over an HOUR long to get our passes to enter the gates.

Why was it such a long line? Because there were only TWO, count them, ONE-TWO, women checking people's reservations and handing out passes. Is that a joke? Am I on Punk'd? Are there secret cameras capturing my every word, counting how many expletives I splutter as I stand in a parking lot full of dust and rocks, waiting to pick up a ticket that I should have been able to pick up in about 5 minutes?

Sadly, none of the above are true. The best part of the entire "queue-ing" experience (there were a lot of Brits around, and they all say queue, not line) was that, once we got into the little tent where the women would consult a list of about 20 pages of confirmation numbers, people started to get rowdy. Like, NYC-style belligerent when disatisifed with the littlest of things--I thought there might be a mini-riot and papers would go flying. At the height of the mutterings and complaining, one of the ticket-checkers says: "You need to be patient, you could have picked up your ticket before today but everyone always comes to pick up their passes the day of the race. It happens every year."

It happens every year? You mean to tell me that this heinous line situation, hours and hours long, in the sun, in the dust, everyone dressed to the nines and wearing the craziest hats I've ever seen (pics below) has happened before? AND NOTHING HAS CHANGED? As I learned, this is a typical Dubai experience--you can't really ask the question "BUT, WHY?" in an exasperated voice here--because there will be not be a single, even remotely sufficient, answer.

After that, we waited in a few more mile-long lines--I will spare you the details. Once we got to "International Village", or rather a Texas-state-fair-replica adjacent to the race track, we only stayed for about an hour. We saw one of the seven races--it lasted about 2 minutes. I ate a not-quite-cooked-enough chicken quesadilla and a diet Pepsi. There was nothing except food and beverage stands in the entire place. Except some fireworks, and a large TV screen. Lame.

All in all, huge letdown. Granted, I wasn't in the grandstand, but if I had to wait in line for that as well, I would have been just as disappointed. I've never ever seen such a poorly planned and executed event of that scale and magnitude--it really makes me appreciate how much planning and foresight does go into things in the US, even though at times it might seem like a circus.

Other things I have learned about in the last week:

-Every single car in Dubai has a buzzer that goes off every time you go above 120 km/hr, since that is the speed limit. So it keeps beeping until you reduce your speed--for the record, more annoying than any blinker or car horn you have ever heard.

-When one of the 5 times to pray/day happens to be when a Muslim is in a mall, well, everyone just goes to the top floor, takes off their shoes, and starts praying. There like rows of people in the aisles of the mall, sitting on prayer rugs for awhile--and you have to walk around the other side until they're finished. I wanted to take a picture but really thought it disrespectful.

-A glass of regular champagne costs $30. A beer costs around $10-$15. A mixed drink costs $15.

-Prostitutes are everywhere. Ev-er-y-where.

Photodocumentation of some of this week's sights below:

High rises in downtown Dubai

A little blurry--part of Dubai Media City @ night

On the way, sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic: a once-a-year event has it's own permanent sign--which you think would indicate their level of reverence and therefore consideration when planning--GUESS NOT

One of the better hat sightings of the evenings

Gone in a flash!

Really? Really?

It's been a few days since my last chit chat--and it is truly amazing what can happen in just a few short days. It took a lot of effort for me to keep my composure in a few instances over the long weekend. Cultural differences are just too hilarious.

Like, I go down to the hotel store. Which, for the record, is the size of closet. And there is a very skinny, kinda short, Christian Siriano (the latest winner of Project Runway) look-alike --crazy hair, skinny jeans and all (plus a unibrow). I needed shampoo. That was it. Given the incredibly small size of the store, it wasn't hard to find. So how the hell did I spend 30 minutes in that cubicle?

Yea, he started talking. It all began with asking me where I'm from, the U.S. or England (my eyes gave me away apparently)? Am I here for business? On vacation? When did I arrive? How long am I staying? Sidenote: this interrogation is standard here. There are so many people from all over the world that it's kind of a necessity to get the vital stats before continuing with the conversation (my waitress the other night gave me the same rundown, while I was eating). Suffice it to say that I'm not extremely happy with this arrangement, because I come from a place where looking someone in the eye on the subway is considered intrusive.

Meanwhile, he's from Iran, his name is Omid (which means "hope" in Persian) and we talked about everything from religion to family to cultural attitudes. Mind you, I did this more out of curiosity about Iran and his particular journey to Dubai than him, though this apparently was not his thought process, because as I finally was able to say "How much do I owe you for this?", he almost immediately replied: "So how do I contact and talk to you again? Friends, more than friends--your choice."

I'm sorry, what? Really? Really? Did you just ask me in one sentence whether I wanted to be "friends" or "more than friends"? What is this, practice for when you're trying to weed out the prostitutes at the mall? I then spent another 10 minutes letting him know that it was kind of weird that he asked me that, and if that was the way he asked girls in Iran or in Dubai if they wanted to be "friends" or "more than friends". The answer is no, by the way. Figures.

So, it was harmless--an eye opening conversation with a kind soul who was excited to talk to a New Yorker. Enough said. Only problem is, the store is right next to the gym, so now I have to slink inside so that a verbal onslaught from Omid is avoided. Ugh. That wouldn't be a problem except I'm going to be in this hotel for at least another 2 weeks.

After that episode, not that much else happened. I went to "brunch" at the hotel on Saturday-- not a piece of toast or a plate of eggs in sight. Lame. They didn't get the memo about what a real, delicious brunch is (I miss my Mom's cooking!). I went to the Mall of the Emirates soon after, the biggest mall here--the one with the ski slope in it, for all of you who have seen the pictures. The sight of snow made me giddy. I didn't go inside (it's freezing in there, but the air conditioning here definitely runs a close second) but seeing snow reminded me of home and how it will be cold and most likely snowing (or not: global warming) when I return to the States in November.

Funny things at the mall: groups of women in their black outfits (it makes them look ghostly--like spirits), men in their dishdashas (those are the traditional white dresses they wear) walking next to tourists in their khaki uniform, cameras, and fanny packs, and teenagers in their Forever 21 sparkly-tween attire. That's what Dubai really is--a huge melting pot of tons of cultures, ethnicities, languages, customs, etc. The mall itself is HUGE. They have EVERYTHING. Below are a couple of pictures from the outing.

For the record: Things are not cheaper here. My movie ticket was the equivalent of $10. My Starbucks tall frapp: $5. Two boxes of granola bars, 12 apples, a shower loofah, and a bag of mixed nuts at the store as big as 2 Walmarts: $25.

No, I'm not joking.


Geek is the same in every language, apparently:



Multilingual Mochas:



They looove their Sheikhs, as is evidenced by massive billboards on the side of the highway (more of these to come--they're EVERYWHERE):


The soon-to-be tallest building in the world, Burj Dubai:

Clearance granted

So I made it. I took an overnight flight from London and sat next to a really pleasant British girl, didn't really sleep, but got all of my luggage.

The visa and passport control lines are a different story. My first glimpse into a different way of doing things in this country:

Scenario 1: I come to these 4 counters set up for visas--any kind of entrance visa whether it's for work, visiting, etc. They are set up as follows: Europeans and Americans, Africans and Arabs, Pakistanis and Asians. That hierarchy is very indicative of the social classes that exist here, first of all. Second of all, there are only 2 men behind the counter, looking very tired and worse for wear. Third of all, do the math--2 visa guys x 4 counters = not enough to deal with all the lines. One of those counters unmanned happens to be the Europeans and Americans counter. We start to queue; we wait, oh, 7 minutes. A man in front of me goes up to the other counter, and asks one of the men (who has his back turned) if we can get someone to help us--he is IGNORED. Flat out denied--no response. So he leaves in a huff. One minute later, and the Europeans and Americans are being taken care of--even though people in other lines were there first. And have been waiting (like the 50 or so South Asian men waiting to get their visas to start working on all the high rises here. They have to wait by the visa counter whether their visa is found in 2 hours or 2 days--at the whim of the desk counter guys and their schedules. Uh huh).

That's not even the best story from the airport.

Scenario 2: So then I get my employment visa (a piece of paper), and I get into the line for passport control--which is quite well set up. There must be 50 counters in total, with maybe 15 passport checkers ready to check all the flights that arrived around the same time. So I get in a line. Within 5 minutes, the guy who was checking my line has disappeared--vanished. I think, ok, time for shift change. 5 minutes. 10 minutes. 15 minutes. No one says a WORD. My New Yorker attitude is starting to simmer. I am getting angry that we are not moving, that no one has taken the guy's spot, and that none of the other men "patrolling" are noticing and asking someone to get their ass over there to fill the desk. Throw me a bone.

A few times, I considered saying something...I decided against it. I didn't want to start off on the wrong foot (or in a customs office). So then our line and 2 others start sharing the remaining passport checkers--because that is SO efficient. Anyway, I get through, I get my luggage, I leave.

On the drive to the hotel, I see lots of interesting things, like enormous high rise buildings half finished, KFC written in Arabic, the 2nd biggest mall in the world-- you know, the usual. I tried to snap some photos, but the car was going to fast. I do however, have a couple of interesting photos below. Taken years apart, this can give you an idea about the insane amount of growth and development here. I will post personally snapped photos in a couple of days.

I am slightly crabby at the moment since I flicked the "Do not Disturb" switch so that I could sleep in today--it's a long weekend since today is the Prophet Muhammed's birthday--peace be upon him (you have to write that phrase after you say his name, every single time, or else you could be arrested--I'm not joking). But then the phone blared in the middle of an intense dream I was having, and the woman on the other end asked me to open the door for room service, since I had ordered a bucket of ice--oh really, I ordered that? In the middle of my REM cycle? Great, thanks for informing me, that's why I had the DO NOT DISTURB sign on, genius.

To get your awareness up, weekends here are Friday/Saturday, not Saturday/Sunday. So Sunday will now be my Monday--ugh. I will never get used to that. Sunday was by far one of my favorite days. Weeeelcome to Dubai.

Sheik Zayed Road (THE main road) Dubai 1990:


SZR Dubai 2003:


SZR Dubai (at night) 2006: