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New city soars over old Dubai
New city soars over old Dubai
A 36-hour stopover in the Manhattan of the Middle East reveals a city of superlatives
From my lofty vantage point on level 124 of the world’s tallest building, the panoramic view of the city, surrounding desert and Persian Gulf is breathtaking.
Far below, the skyscrapers that dominate the glitziest and most Westernized of the seven United Arab Emirates shimmer in the scorching midday heat like Lego pieces arranged in a giant sandbox.
I’m not the only one enjoying a bird’s-eye view of Dubai’s architectural audacity. Across town, the giant image of its absolute ruler, Shaikh Mohammed, smiles down upon his realm from a billboard atop one of those skyscrapers like a benevolent Big Brother.
Since oil was discovered here in 1966, launching their emirate’s astounding transformation from Bedouin backwater to ultra-modern metropolis, Sheik Mohammed’s family — despite ongoing accusations of gross migrant labour exploitation, suppression of human rights and even ecocide — has religiously stuck to the plan: If you build it bigger, taller, grander and richer, they will come.
I come to Dubai aboard Emirates Airlines’ recently launched, non-stop flight from Seattle on a 36-hour stopover to sample what an unending pipeline of petro dollars and a determination to be the biggest and brashest has created in an otherwise austere part of the planet.
The skyline’s the limit
In the global race for vertical bragging rights that can seem like perpetual civic penis envy, the 828-metre-high Burj Khalifa (nearly 300 meters taller than the CN Tower) is currently top banana. My destination is the second highest outdoor observation deck in the world at level 124, which I reach via an ear-popping 10 metres per second elevator rocket ride.
Unlike Tom Cruise, whose character Ethan Hunt scaled the Burj Khalifa’s exterior in the recent blockbuster, Mission: Impossible – Ghost Protocol, I’m content to simply take in the view from 452 metres up the most grandiose testament to this emirate’s determination to diversify from an oil-based to a service- and tourism-based economy. My next stop is Dubai’s other most famous high-flying architectural marvel, the Burj Al Arab, often voted the world’s most luxurious hotel. Shaikh Mohammed reputedly wanted its billowing traditional Arab dhow sail structure rising 321 metres above the sea to be the symbol of the city, like Sydney’s Opera House and the Eiffel Tower in Paris. Frequently described as the world’s only seven-Star hotel (although officially rated five star deluxe), Burj al Arab occupies its own artificial island.
Only hotel guests are allowed inside the Burj Al Arab’s opulent interior, encased in a giant translucent fibreglass wall designed to protect the largest atrium in the world against scorching desert heat by day and serve as a spectacular light show projection screen by night. So I stand gawking from the entrance gate as a hotel Rolls-Royce enters, one of a fleet at the disposal of jet-setters staying in lavish two-storey suites that reach 8,400-sq.-ft and can cost a sheik’s ransom of up to $30,000 per night.
Fantasy island
Luckily, I am allowed to enter another of Dubai’s engineering marvels — Palm Juramiah, the world’s largest artificial island, jutting out into the Persian Gulf in the shape of a palm tree.
Dubai authorities call Palm Juramiah’s mix of gargantuan theme resorts (including Atlantis, a duplicate of its namesake in Nassau, Bahamas), luxury villas, apartment buildings, manicured beaches, marinas and restaurants “the eighth wonder of the world.” It’s a wonder, then, how the entire island could be sinking at a rate of five millimetres per year, according to recent geological studies. That would make Palm Juramiah one of the world’s most audacious examples of diminishing real estate returns.
Street scents
Dubai isn’t all mega projects and monster towers, as I discover the next morning while strolling the back streets of the city’s old quarters alongside the Creek, the commercial lifeblood of what was once an important regional trading hub long before oil wealth arrived.
Packed with narrow winding alleys, traditional buildings, boutique hotels, art galleries, and wind towers used before air conditioning to create natural ventilation in buildings, the historic districts of Bastakiya, Bur Dubai and Deira form the last remaining pockets of Old Dubai.
Negotiating their labyrinthine alleys. Bantering with Indian, Syrian and Lebanese merchants in the glittering Gold and aromatic Spice Souqs. Hopping an Abra (a traditional wooden water taxi) across Dubai Creek. Exploring the multimedia reconstructions of the Emirate’s story at the Dubai Museum, situated underneath the restored Al Fahidi Fort. All combine to give me a sense of a very different life in this once-modest pearling village. |
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