All these recent headlines remind me of my own unexpected trip to Dubai in early , three years before moving from the Washington, D. The surprise offer arrived at on a freezing Thursday afternoon β in the form of an urgent email from a New York public relations firm. Why not, I thought, browsing the itinerary and suddenly imagining that I was basking in the warm desert sunshine. Champagne Friday brunch at the Armani Hotel.
Walking tour of Old Dubai and the spice market. But perhaps the wealthy emirate had gotten some soul, and besides, I was eager to escape β if for only six days β a brutal Maryland winter that was only just beginning.
With only 30 minutes to decide before the coveted spot would be offered to someone else, I immediately called New York and said yes. DXB, with its plastic palm trees, refreshing mist machines and fabulous duty-free shops, covers Even before entering, visitors walk past nostalgic scenes of Bedouins herding their camels; a donkey loaded with kerosene, and a blue s-era Land Rover parked next to a bustling tent market.
Nevertheless, the morning our little group stopped by, the Dubai Museum was crammed with Muslim tourists from the Philippines and Indonesia. Veiled young women in colorful scarves happily photographed each other among the replicas of wooden fishing boats and ancient cannons.
On Dec. Those five others β Ajman, Fujeirah, Ras Al Khaimah, Sharjah and Umm Al Quwain β were known only to nerdy stamp collectors like myself who eagerly sought their colorful but ultimately worthless issues.
