Katharine in India

Dubai Detour

• By Katharine
• 23 February, 2014
• 2 Comments

Today I’d planned to visit the Purana Quila and its archaeology museum in Delhi, as well as the national Craft Museum. But after unexpected fog delayed our arrival in Dubai by 4 hours – including sitting on the tarmac and refueling at a new airport under construction north of the city until we were finally allotted a landing time at the main airport – I missed my connection to New Delhi and ended up spending 24 hours in Dubai, United Arab Emirates.
First, let me say that traveling from New York to Dubai on an Emirates air “Dreamliner” was an ideal experience for a long flight.

Before we left the ground, the staff (from 20 countries and speaking 21 languages) passed out hot towels so we could wash our hands and dab our faces. The onboard electronics allowed me to choose from news stories, music, TV shows, and more than 300 movies, including Bollywood films in Hindi and six other Indian languages, all with subtitles in slightly mangled English. After reading the BBC news, I settled on a slapstick romantic comedy (in Punjabi) about a marriage between the Hindu goddess Sita and a modern-day, mortal Rama who had been accidentally endowed with some immortal powers.

Mid-movie, the staff passed out menus – the choices were American barbequed chicken (eaten by the Indian man next to me); a halal dish; and a vegetarian curry (which I, the American, chose). The curry with paneer and vegetables, salad, roll, crackers and vegetable spread, peach shortbread with vanilla sauce, and chocolate wafer had to be the best airline food ever. Later, we were all treated to a light dinner of a personal vegetarian pizza, the universal kosher, halal, and vegetarian food. Then the staff passed out small, zippered pouches with slipper socks, eye mask, and portable toothbrush. I inflated my travel pillow, donned my eye mask, put on some Bach, and stretched out across three seats under my airline blanket. But a precocious 21-month-old girl in the row behind me chattered nonstop and cried just often enough that I got virtually no sleep.

Morning brought breakfast and the announcement that our landing would be delayed by an hour, then two hours, and finally four. At that point, I didn’t care: I was deep into Season 4 of “Downton Abbey.” On our final, 10-minute flight to Dubai’s main airport, I used the airplane cam feature to watch the landscape below. The camera, presumably mounted high on the plane’s tail, showed desert and then The Palm resort, which sits in the middle of artificial beaches laid out in the shape of a palm tree, surrounded by a circular barrier beach. We flew low over more water and the city’s signature skyscrapers, then out over miles of desert again before circling around to land.

I hoped my connecting Emirates flight to Delhi would be late as well. I raced off the Dreamliner and through security, even though the board listed the flight as “Gate Closed,” hoping I could beg my way onto the plane at the last minute. But when I discovered I’d have to take a train to another terminal with only 10 minutes until takeoff, I gave up and lined up at the Emirates counter to change my flight.

That experience was miserable. I won’t go into details, but suffice it to say it took me three hours to get a new flight leaving at 3 p.m. this afternoon (Sunday), a hotel voucher, and an “Upon Arrival” visa – but not my suitcase. Note to self: Next time, pack a change of shirt, socks, and undies in my carry-on of electronics. The airport in Dubai was gleamingly modern and immaculate, with more helpful staff – “Welcome to Dubai!” – than arriving passengers. An Emirates shuttle took a bunch of fog-delayed passengers past palm trees right to the Copthorpe Hotel, where I was presented with several meal vouchers upon check-in. I stayed awake long enough to eat a late lunch, and then, after being awake for 25 hours, I slept for 15.

This morning I got up at 7 a.m. local time, and although I’m still groggy – as I’m afraid may be obvious from this post – I breakfasted and read one of the many English language local papers. For all you news junkies, here’s what was on the front page: an article about the improving economy and how a “wise government” plans to spend enhanced revenues; a big picture of Venus Williams, who just won the Dubai Open for the third time in a row; an article about the Ukrainian Parliament’s vote to removed the president; and a story about Sumo wrestlers eating their way through a Dubai food festival. Inside were more stories about festivals – Dubai is party central in the Middle East – including the first-ever Kerala Festival for the more than 1 million migrant workers in Dubai who hail from the Indian state of Kerala. There were two full pages of news from India, including a story about a new book out by a former top official for Amma, the hugging saint, alleging sexual abuse and financial hanky-panky. Sound familiar?

Not surprisingly, all the meals here, as on the airline, seem to offer both Arabic and Indian specialties, as well as Western food, reflecting the wide array of travelers and residents. In honor of my sister-in-law, Hala, and niece, Leila, I ate pita bread with “sour yogurt” and black olives for breakfast, along with some British broiled tomatoes and mushrooms, and fresh watermelon and honeydew. The hotel guests include women in full Arabic dress, some with only their eyes showing, others covering only their heads and mouths, and some dressing in Western clothing. Although the rooms here would qualify this as a clean but basic two-and-a-half star hotel in the U.S., there are two fine jewelry stores in the lobby, a souvenir shop with Arabic clothing and miniature, rhinestone studded camels, an amazing sand-bottle artist (again, palm trees and camels are popular), and four restaurants – including Our World is Flatbread. The lobby also has a business center, where for $7 I purchased a card with a scratch-off password entitling me to a half-hour of Wifi time. Near my room is a prayer room for women, with an electronic clock showing the exact times five times to pray each day.

But this is all I’ll see of Dubai, besides the commercials that interrupted “Downton Abbey” on my Emirates flight (it’s a government-owned airline). It’s clear that the business of Dubai is promoting Dubai as a tourist destination, but staying at The Palm resort (“Rooms from $434 a night!”) and visiting an indoor ski resort at the Mall of the Emirates is not my kind of tourism. At least not until I win the Powerball jackpot.