"Dude, this egg roll has chili in it." Part 2

Dubai can best be summed up as a crazy idea propped up with oil money. When Mittz told me that it was a complete bizarro world, I didn't initially believe her. I do now. The five days or so I spent there were some of the strangest of my life. It all started on the way to the airport. I realized halfway there that I hadn't printed my itinerary to show the airport security guys. When I got there, I pulled the itinerary up on my phone and was ready to spew excuses. They didn't seem to care much, although they did find it amusing. Once we'd boarded a few hours later, I realized that everyone on the plane except for me and a handful of other travelers would be hard at work the next day keeping the tourism wheels of the emirate turning by building more buildings. Out of the 190 or so people on board, at least 180 were Rajasthani laborers. After the quick flight, and the surprising (somewhat) lack of reaction regarding my clearly jewish name and appearance, I hustled out of the terminal and into the early morning sun. And then, with Mittz and her brother in tow, right back inside again. They were determined to IMMEDIATELY get me some Americana, which seems to sell surprisingly well in Dubai, in all of its forms. With a half-dozen Dunkin Donuts (celebrating 50 locations in the Emirates this month) in tow, we hopped in the car for the brief blast down the highway back to Mittz's apartment in Dubai. Immediately, a couple of things became glaringly obvious to me. First, the heat. The desert climes of the Emirates simply make the Jaipur heat look like child's play. It's not that much hotter. What really kills is that the desert is just not bone-dry like you'd immediately think. Oh no, the desert also manages to be so humid that you're pretty much soaked after a minute or two, the combination of sweat and humidity condensing on your skin making you permanently feel like you've just put on clothes after hastily drying yourself in the shower. Second, there is no sand left. Of course there's sand everywhere, but wherever there's sand, there's a building either being built or standing there. According to Indrani's brother, when he moved to dubai 10 years ago, he could see the emirate I had landed in from his apartment. It was all just sand between there and his home. Now there are 15 miles of buildings in the way. And finally, third, the realization that this really is an Islamic state, despite all of the western-style fripperies. Each neighborhood has its own mosque, streets are packed at prayer time, the nation censors sites it feels are against the cultural mores of the emirates (most notably flickr, orkut and anything with Israel's .il domain suffix) and the women in purdah and the men in dishdashas. It's somewhat jarring at first, but it was less of a big deal after coming from India, where the culture of modesty is still pretty strong. In any case, this juxtapositon of western stores frequented by men and women in flowing clothes certainly served to confuse me a bit. After a solid morning catching up on lost sleep, I awoke to find Indrani's roommate Ronny still asleep. Once we'd both gotten up and cleaned up, Indrani had return ed from her half-day at work and we hit the streets. We made a stop at Khan Murjan, a fake souk in the basement of the Raffles Hotel. The stuff on display varied from reasonably tasteful (at least by Dubai standards) all the way to incredibly tacky. Who wants an Andy Warhol-esque picture of a caricature of a camel done in dayglo paints on black velvet? Or a picture of the ruler on a piece of glass made from Swarovski crystals? The decor of the place fit this tacky vibe, as there were massive stained glass ceiling panels depicting trade routes and huge, ugly and elaborate banisters and ceiling-to-floor chandeliers. The funniest thing was easily the huge stained glass window, which may have looked nicer had it been catching natural light. They'd just thrown a few fluorescents behind it (it's underground, remember) and this made the colors look really strange and off somehow. They did have nice turkish coffee though, although the last inch or so was very caffeinated and sugary mud. Then we visited Wafi Mall, a huge depository for all things expensive. Apparently, it's one of the highest end malls in the city (probably the world). Unfortunately, the Dubai sense of taste involving expensive things seems to be to cover it in diamonds and gold/platinum and then buff it to such a mirror shine that you can probably burn ants with it. I saw some truly hideous stuff, which I wouldn't have been surprised to see in a place besides a rolex store. But what do you know, there were rolexes in the front window just covered in grotesque shiny crap, including a Presidential with a leopard skin band and green and black and diamond leopard print across the face in precious stones. There also was a store which sold Urwerk and Richard Mille watches, among some of the most expensive on Earth. They typically have to be special ordered from a dealer, due to the difficulty in sourcing one. This store had 5 of the $50k+ Urwerks and 3 of the $100k+ Milles. The next stop was one of the wildest malls on earth, Ibn Batutta Mall, which celebrates the travels of the famous Muslim explorer...by building him a mall. Sounds perfectly logical and amazingly tacky, no? While we were at this mall, we met Indrani's boss, a large Lebanese man named Sam. Mittz had told me that he was a bit of a pistol, but he surprised me by asking before anything else if I had sampled the local talent of Dubai. I said no (hint, hint: they're all in purdah and I'm reasonably certain that I'd be excommunicated by my grandpa if I did). After a whirlwind tour of the many malls, we returned home and I passed out.

The next day, I rose early with Indrani and hopped in the car for the trip down to her office. The way we'd planned it was that we'd go to her office (she was the only person in for the day) and we'd sit and chat while she finished her work. Around noon, I left to go to the Mall of the Emirates, with the ultimate goal of visiting Ski Dubai. The Mall is huge. Three floors of shopping, hundreds and hundreds of stores and a ski mountain. You know a mall is huge when it has more than 15 anchor tenants, all of which were hypermarkets or department stores or electronics superstores. It took a solid three hours to wander through the massive mall, without stopping in more than a handful of stores. Once I'd done the mall crawl, I headed for ski dubai. After getting my lift ticket, equipment and whatnot (should've worn sunglasses), I headed up the double escalators and out to the mountain and lifts. Instantly, I was struck by the cold. It just eats into you, especially when you're barely wearing any clothing (the parka and pants went over a tee shirt and hot-weather microfiber pants). I'd certainly been outside for longer in less (think speed suit) but after the searing summer heat of dubai and Jaipur, I was simply not expecting that things would actually be cold enough inside. I have no idea how the sheikhs are able to cope (this is the new hangout spot for the hyperwealthy) without any previous experience with cold weather. Riding the lift to the top made me realize once and for all the novelty of the experience. I was skiing...in the desert...in the middle of the summer...and it WORKED. The snow was actually a pleasant surprise, I was expecting rock-hard boilerplate ice and it turned out to be sierra cement instead, my favorite snow. After a little while, the novelty started to wear off. Yes it was snow, and yes it was skiing, but there were only two runs. Once I'd largely exhausted my two hours credit and was starting to tire of the damn gapers (all sheikhs, of course) lying down in the middle of the runs, I ducked back in and swapped the rental clothes back in and hopped in a cab back to Indrani's office.

Once we made it back to the house, I quickly showered the desert off of me and we met up with Indrani's brother to go visit Ronny's cousin for drinks and then dinner. Once we'd arrived at the mall where we were going to eat, we went and got in line for a table at Chili's. We sat down, and looked through the appetizers. I saw what was described as a southwest beef eggroll and was immediately stricken with nostalgia. One of my scavvie friends, named Zach, was the road trip team captain this year. Once they'd finished their items in Kansas, they were heading back through Missouri. They were desperately searching for a fabled chinese buffet, as a reward for their good work. Frustrated, they stopped at a QuikTrip to ask for directions. Inside they found that the minimart sold what was dubbed a mongolian beef eggroll, which they quickly bought. In the car again, Zach bit into his eggroll and proclaimed, "Dude, this eggroll has chili in it." I bought the eggroll, sensing another opportunity for humor and was not let down. It had chili in it.

The remaining two days in dubai were a blur, the most memorable moment of which was Mittz and I dragging Ronny to Yo Sushi! for a sushi experience. It was a task trying to get him to eat something besides shumai and california rolls, but it was a much needed recharger for me, not to mention a meal without a hamburger or steak in sight. It was probably the healthiest thing I ate the whole trip, which may or may not have been a good thing. Still, it was great to have a chance to cut loose for a few days before heading back into Jaipur.