The school sponsored a trip to Fujairah to go snorkelling. Though I wasn’t initially planning to go due to the costs, a friend had to cancel last minute and I bought her ticket.
The bus trip was excruciatingly long–though I was running on two hours of sleep, people kept waking me up just as I was about to sleep. We passed three overturned trucks on the way that caused massive detours. It was fascinating driving through various emirates though and seeing how rural and small town they felt.
I’d never been snorkelling at first, but it took me only a few seconds to fall absolutely in love. I managed to wear my contacts under my snorkel, thankfully, since the world is much more HD with them! The coastline of Fujairah was so incredibly gorgeous, with schools of fish for me to chase everywhere. I wouldn’t wear flippers again as they made it hard for me to dive town and really chase the fish, but they were useful when we found and followed a gigantic sea turtle.
Photo from AUD student services.Photo from AUD student services.Sunset as we headed back to Dubai.
It’s coming out week, and I’ve recently seen a lot of articles popping up about why labels are bad and people saying they’re above labels.
I agree with most of these articles. Labels can be restricting. They can be arbitrary and they can feel derogatory. Kudos to those who are rising above.
However, I must advocate for the use of labels sometimes. Not all of the time, but sometimes–self-selected labels especially. Labels can give us a place to belong, and labels make us feel less alone. And I’m very comfortable having a post-it on my head that reads “asexual.” (Though if you call me American, I will throw a hissy fit.)
It’s really linguistic relativity all over again. If we have a conception of a label, we can apply it to people and understand more about them. This, of course, can lead to problems on the ladder of inference, but that’s another story. Labels allow us to provide schemas of ourselves to other people and to gain quick understandings of people’s backgrounds or tastes.
When we think of a “cat,” we think of a furry creature that purrs with four legs and a tail. When we think of a “dog,” we think of a furry creature that barks with four legs and a tail. But say we spoke a different language that referred to all furry creatures with four legs and a tail–cats, dogs, and maybe sheep or cows or the likes–as cogs. Maybe speakers of this language won’t have the typical cat vs. dog debate. Maybe all cat lovers and dog lovers will be friends instead of battling over which is best.
I understand the hype against labels, but at the same time, we label ourselves on a constant basis. I remember an activity in middle school where we were to write a list of our communities, from our families to the church to our nationalities. I called myself a Kiwi, a San Franciscan, a Cure-lover, a Nirvana-freak, a member of the Catholic Church (though not Catholic), a sister, a chocoholic, and more. All these could be considered labels.
And these labels all allow me to provide schemas of myself. By telling someone I’m a San Franciscan, they may then apply a schema to me–I’m very socially liberal, I’m a tree hugger, and I can kind of be a hippy. If I tell someone I’m a bookworm, they might be less offended when I spend half a movie reading my book. If I tell someone I’m a vegetarian, they might be less offended when I decline eating meat.
Before I knew what asexuality was, I felt like something was wrong with me. I’d always been an avid reader, and in many of the young adult books I read, teens experienced fireworks on their first kisses, and had raging hormones that had them wanting to hook up in strange places. I had always been the “guy-obsessed” one of my friend-group; I crushed on a different guy every week in middle school and had two long-term, one very serious, relationships in high school. I spent a phase wondering if I was lesbian, but I never felt attracted–romantically or otherwise–to girls.
I still remember the night I learned asexuality was a thing. It was about 4AM one night during my school’s JanTerm, and I had my entire suite to myself. I was procrastinating on the draft of a paper and thus aimlessly scrolling through Facebook when I saw a Youtube video someone had posted to a friend’s wall. I normally avoid Youtube, but for some reason I clicked on this one. Then I watched another, and another. And then I did some googling.
Having a label for myself meant knowing there was a community of people like me out there. It meant there was nothing wrong with me. It meant there was somewhere that I fit in, that there were other people with my experiences. I wasn’t broken.
I have trouble identifying as or labeling myself as LGTBQA because often that schema is being used in attempts to widen diversity, and I’m still a white middle-class Western girl with a lot of privilege, and I’m not often discriminated against by the general population for being ace. Similarly, I would be wary of adopting a cog, because I know I wouldn’t have time to care for a cog that barks or needs milking every day. But, if the asexuality box was ever there, I’d be more than proud to check it. And I’d be extremely happy to adopt a cat.
Sure, labels can be negative, too. But labels, especially those we apply to ourselves, can give us a sense of community.
The United Arab Emirates is one of few places where one can find a forest of mangroves, strange trees that thrive in saltwater and look similar to the Whomping Willow. The lanes between these trees are filled with roots around half a meter high sticking straight up like the teeth on a comb. They’re often submerged in water, but provide a barrier against coastal erosion. Many tiny crabs run around the mangroves or cling to their bark, demonstrating how the mangroves support an exotic ecosystem.
We kayaked through the mangroves in Abu Dhabi. At some points, I used my hands instead of the paddle to row as it was very tricky to manoeuvre without crashing into the trees!
Photo from AUD Student Activities.Photo from AUD Student Activities.
One of my must-sees in Dubai was the Nutella bar, located in the Dubai Mall, which is the largest mall in the world. I was surprised to see more Emiratis there than anywhere else in Dubai in addition to the flocks of tourists. To my disappointment, the Nutella bar was pretty expensive, and since I’ve already made pretty delicious Nutella cakes in mugs, I decided not to buy anything. While it was an experience, there were far too many people and too much capitalism; as such I don’t plan on returning anytime soon!
This past week, I took a trip to Iran by myself using my New Zealand passport, spending 2.5 days in Esfahan, 2.5 days in Shiraz, and 2 days in Tehran.
So. How was Iran?
More than a few times in this past week, I’ve told people that just because two countries’ governments can’t get along doesn’t mean that their people can’t be friends. I befriended a Russian while walking to an Iranian mosque, spoke Spanish with an Iranian-Ecuadoran when we got lost, and explained agnosticism to an Iranian Shi’a Muslim all in the span of an hour. And the world didn’t end.
We’re all human. We’re all people.
And honestly, I saw more generosity and friendship expressed during one week in Iran than I did in three summers of working national parks, where every person only cares about their vacation being the best possible.
Iranians love foreigners, and especially Americans. They’re so excited to hear about life elsewhere, but at the same time they have a furious pride to them–they were delighted to hear that I loved their country, and thanked me profusely when I told them that I thought their people were sweet and generous–a fact. I learned very little about Iranian politics this past week. I learned less than I presumed I would about Iranian culture, also, mainly because I spent a lot of time answering questions about myself. I kept my tongue to myself and only had political discussions only with a couple of younger people.
I’m already missing having tea ten times a day (well, at least three…) with saffron infused rock candy added for sweetness and a dose of good conversation. I think that Americans can learn a lot from Iranian culture and sharing. I paid for tea once, when with other foreigners; every other time, someone was buying it for me in exchange for nothing but my company.
Of all places in Iran, I probably had three favourites. I loved Nasqh-e Rostam for its history and for its beauty, but Imam Square in Esfahan stood out because of its beauty and, more importantly, because of how no matter what time of day, there were always people hanging out, having picnics, talking and greeting each other, and generally just relaxing. Similarly, the Mausoleum of Shah-e Cheragh in Shiraz, open 24 hours, stood out to me as being a place of community, a mosque with people of all ages doing everything from praying to playing tag.
I preferred Esfahan and Shiraz to Tehran, which felt more busy and less homey–there wasn’t as much distinguishing it from any other city in the world. Esfahan was my favourite place and I could very easily envision life there–it really is half of the world. But I loved how in all the cities there were playgrounds everywhere and green spaces in the middle of streets or city blocks. At night, there were fairy lights all over, especially on the fountains in the middle of almost every roundabout. The cities are naturally beautiful, but Iranians take pride in them and take them to the next level.
I loved the fresh fruit and vegetables that were available on every street and the nun freshly baked and sitting on the curb eating fresh food. I loved the strange soup and the delicious falafel I had from small shops on the street. I loved the fresh juices and the ice cream made with real fruit.
In a few years, I can see more and more people travelling to Iran. As it stands now, it’s so authentic. It feels real. Having lived in San Francisco, in Dubai, and having worked in national parks with tourons (tourist-morons) everywhere, I can kind of sense the difference between what’s authentic and what’s put on to attract rich tourists. Yeah, a lot of historical buildings are overpriced and definitely geared towards tourists, but for the most part, Iran is authentic. It’s a home for many people, and it’s not a place to get transient people to spend money. I haven’t found that type of authenticity anywhere else I’ve been. Iran, so far away (had to slip that in)–physically and in culture–from the Western world. And yet there wasn’t a time that I didn’t feel completely safe, even wandering the streets alone, even as a female, even as a US citizen.
While I want everyone to be more openminded in regards to all people, I can’t help but want Iran to stay a secret and to stay as it is. I almost don’t want them to lift their visa requirements on US and UK citizens. I want to be able to return in ten years and find it the same way. (Well, maybe with ATMs that take Visa cards, but.) Getting a visa was as easy as filling out a form and flashing my Kiwi passport.
But I do really hope that people can stop basing judgments of people on portrayals of their governments in the media–especially countries where democracy isn’t quite as democratic as in other countries. Americans are fully responsible for the election of their politicians, yet they don’t hold themselves individually responsible for each choice made by those people. So they shouldn’t fear Iranians just because their government has views on the nuclear deal that aren’t in line with American interests.
It’s kind of a given fact that I tear up upon flying pretty much anywhere, but I was particularly sad to be leaving Iran and especially its people. I’m not ready to wear a headscarf forever and to live under a Supreme Leader, but I’m definitely more in love with Iran than I was before I left.
I was feeling nostalgic already about my last day in Iran, but I had also been freaking out about running out of money, so first thing I decided to go and exchange the few dirham I had. (Turned out I didn’t even need them, but hey, having a million rial in my wallet can never hurt, right?)
And now I have a Tehran metro card!
A few friends from the hostel had come with me, and we next decided to head to Park-e Shahr, where I became a crazy cat lady and amused myself by watching the various cats play. The pond in the middle is used for ice skating in the winter, and there’s a teahouse there also.
I arrived at my hostel in Tehran around 10AM, and was once again excited to find a community of international travellers. The Seven Hostel was the first hostel in Tehran, and is still only five months old, so Jalal, the owner, is still ironing out some kinks, but it’s going to be a fabulous place. For 15USD a night, the dorms are a great price. The location is subpar–it’s 200,000 rial to basically anywhere in Tehran; however, if you’re okay with braving the metro, it’s super easy to get into town and I definitely recommend it.
A 5D simulator–just the norm in Iran.
I tagged along with a couple of German guys who were going up to Mount Tochal–I might love mountains as much as I love cities, and this sounded by far the most appealing thing to spend a day doing. We took the old Telecabin–or gondola–up 7.5km to almost the top, and hiked the final 1,500m to the top–about 4,000 meters tall.
So an American and a Russian walk into an Iranian mosque… sounds like the beginning of a great joke, right?
My two Italian friends, and a new Russian friend, and I begun the day by walking to Arg-e Karim Khani, the giant castle/fortress that we had kept seeing. There was an exhibition going on–“Fars at a Glance”–and many craftsmen had stalls around the area selling various foods and crafts, and seeing the various people selling their wares was as interesting as seeing the old bathhouses. It reminded me of a farmer’s market in the US.
When I got back to Shiraz, I went out wandering and found the bazaar. I’m not generally much of a shopper, but Iranian bazaars–and Dubai souqs, too–are so much fun to just get lost in.
I had another awkward encounter–a guy approached me and said he’d met me the previous day but I couldn’t for the life of me remember him and I really wasn’t in a mood to talk, so I told him that I met a lot of people and as such didn’t recall him. He followed me for a bit, but when I insisted that I did not want to talk to him, he headed off in the opposite direction. I promptly remembered him as an oil executive who’d stopped to chat the previous night, but again, I hadn’t felt comfortable around him so I didn’t regret being a bit rude. And again, I still felt safe because of all the other people around.
For my first full day in Shiraz, my lovely hostel manager booked a driver to take a Spanish couple and me to see Persepolis, Pasagarde, and Naqsh-e Rostam. This day was one case when I really wished that I had my own car or a bit more freedom, as our driver seemed to know what was best and I was kind of an awkward third wheel all day–they were very sweet and definitely tried to be welcoming, but it still felt like their trip that I just happened to be on. However, it was 20USD, so the price was definitely good.
This sign was a fun one. “Iman Khomeini: The world should know that all Iran and muslims problems are due to the politics of aliens. Of the USA muslims generally hate Alies and specially hate the USA” Not quite sure what they were going for there but…
We first went to Pasagarde, though the Spaniards had tried to convince our driver to go to Persepolis first so we’d know how much time we would have comfortably left over. As such, Pasagarde was rushed, and we didn’t get to go up to the prison on the hill. Pasagarde was cool, but a little anticlimactic and required a lot of walking/waiting for a shuttle bus to get between the sites.
In Shiraz, I stayed at the Golsham Hostel, which the lovely Esfahan Tourist Office had booked for me, and I cannot recommend it more highly! For 400,000 rial (or 12USD) a night, I had a bed in the dorm of an absolutely gorgeous traditional Iranian home area. It was down an alley, which felt sketchy initially, but when I walked in, it was to an open square, walled in by other buildings and with a simple canopy over top to keep out the rain. There was a water fountain in the center, and lounging areas all around the sides in addition to tables. Everyone looked over to smile at me briefly, and I was welcomed very warmly by Parviz, the manager of the hostel.
Honestly, other than having reliable WiFi, the best part of the hostel was meeting other travellers. I hadn’t realized it, but after three nights with a hotel room to myself, I was really missing having conversations without needing to use simple sentences. I met two awesome Italian girls there, and less than half an hour after I’d arrived, we went out for dinner.
Thankfully, the VIP passenger buses are ridiculously cheap within Iran, although no one at the stations speaks much English.
I had two rather contrary experiences during my trip.
I first travelled from Esfahan to Shiraz for 300,000 rial. I made the mistake of taking the 11:45AM bus, which really ate up my day, but I also didn’t want to be getting into the hostel too late. I was waiting at the bus platform at 11:45, and started freaking out because there was still no bus. When I went back in, they told me to sit down in the VIP lounge and stay there until I was called. Guess I’m not used to being a VIP!
As VIPs, we received an apple, a banana, a cucumber, and a plastic knife (which I realised after I’d already eaten my cucumber unpeeled.) The lady I sat next to was incredibly sweet despite speaking no English; a man a row ahead of me had lived in Florida for twenty-two years and was excitedly rediscovering his homeland; and I met a really interesting girl from Shiraz who was studying to be a doctor in Esfahan. These three all adopted me; when we stopped for lunch and everyone had to get out, they all sat down at my table and offered me various food items.
I had even less of an agenda today than yesterday. Though I had barely slept, I woke up around 7:30 naturally and decided to get going. Though it was only an hour and a half earlier than yesterday, the vibe on the streets felt different, with more people walking with purpose.
I made it to Iman Square in less than ten minutes–I’d been taking the roundabout way yesterday! Almost instantly, I was approached by an elderly man, probably in his late 80s or 90s. He spoke very little English, but when I introduced myself, he kept repeating “Amrika, Amrika!” He asked if I’d join him for some tea, and I accepted. Side note: tea is chay. Since a good milky chai tea is probably my favourite drink ever, I kept getting excited about people offering me chai tea until I realised they were actually offering me chay tea–tea tea.
Azadegan Teahouse was unlike anything I’d ever seen before. It was located in a tiny square just off Iman Square filled with chickens milling around and washing hanging from windows. Inside, there were two separate rooms–one for men only, and a ‘family’ room where women were allowed. There were signs everywhere saying “no photo,” but my friend insisted that I take at least one photo, so I obliged.
I may have said this in my last post, but Iranians are the kindest, most friendly people ever. Actually.
When I woke up this morning, I went straight to my window and stared out at Esfahan. From there, it reminded me of Jackson Hole, WY–there are mountains bordering the city. One I later found out is known as Sofa Mountain.
Jackson Hole, am I right?!
I went cautiously down for breakfast, feeling like I was in the wrong place simply because I haven’t yet accepted that I’m old enough to do adult things like renting hotel rooms and buying plane tickets and such. Thankfully, after checking my room key, the man there was very nice and served me tea. They had a machine filled with warm milk that had a mixer-esque implement swirling through it to keep a skin from forming, and delicious orange and grape juices. The food options were unusual, but I was happy to eat cucumbers and tomatoes, try a taste of some strange meaty nuggety thing, and to fill up on a type of bread, nun, with carrot jam. I’ll have to pinch a few packets of the latter; it was unusual, but delicious. I also chugged about three cups of water–like in Dubai, you have to pay for it here, and I knew I’d forget to drink a lot throughout the day without my trusty Yellowstone waterbottle.
And so I set out! I took with me about 1,000,000 rial, a photocopy of my New Zealand passport, a map of the hotel’s area, my guide book, and my good ol’ camera phone. (One day I’ll get a proper camera. Maybe.) I had a vague idea of where I wanted to go, but figured I’d stress less if I were to just wing it. So first of all, I walked down towards the river.
They didn’t lie when they said that Iranians are the nicest people ever. Not even kidding.
For future reference to anyone flying out of Dubai’s Terminal Two and thinking about metroing, take a taxi, because if you metro to terminal 1 or 3, you will still have to take a taxi to terminal 2 and they’ll charge you as much as you would have paid to get there from your original destination. Hmph.
Not once was I asked while checking in or boarding my flight if I had a visa. I wonder what would have happened if I didn’t. I’m not going to try it, but. I suppose I did check that box agreeing that I had all the necessary travel documents.
I got off the plane in Esfahan and immediately the lady sitting behind me struck up a conversation. She’s Iranian-American–she was born and raised in Iran and moved to the US when she was 24 knowing no one and knowing no English. She gave me her mother’s number and told me to call.
The Esfahan airport is tiny. There was a line for immigration officers and a small window off to my right for visas. One other person and I went to that window–he was Taiwanese and excited to hear that I’d worked with Taiwanese people in Zion.
The visa officer examined my New Zealand passport and handed me a form asking me the dates of and reason for my visit and contact information–I put my hotel. Then he billed me 120USD–what! My Taiwanese friend was only billed $60, the amount I had been expecting. I was pretty annoyed since that dug into my backup US money, but what could I do but pay? But though that was annoying, there was no hassle whatsoever, no questions asked, no Spanish Inquisition, nothing. Seriously, every Kiwi should go to Iran. Right now.
Ten minutes later, I had a shiny Iranian visa on my passport. I then went and talked to the immigration officers and a member of the Iranian military, who was the only one of the group who spoke English. They took quite a bit longer with me–as it turned out, Mr. Visa Officer had written on my visa that I was born in Australia, though my passport very clearly says New Zealand. Like I haven’t been mistaken for an Aussie before. At least he knows where New Zealand is, I guess?
While they cleared up that mistake (with white-out. Very grown up, Iranian authorities…) I chatted with Mr. Iranian Military Dude–again, super friendly! He’s serving his time in the military but when he’s done, he wants to teach English here–he has his masters in teaching English as a second language. He was really excited that I was here and seemed amused about how I picked Iran of all places. I’m way too honest and told him without thinking that I’m a US citizen as well, but they didn’t care thankfully. (My US passport also did not emit any beams, for anyone who was wondering.)
He asked me if I had a way he could keep in contact and I was like sure let me give you my email and to my surprise he was like how about social networking sites? I gave him my Facebook and email, but told him I probably wouldn’t have Facebook for the week, because I needed a VPN, right? He couldn’t, of course, endorse VPNs, but I was amused by how it seemed to him to be a given that I’d be using one. He helped me learn how to pronounce ‘have a nice day’ (“ruje choob dashte basheed”) and the immigration officers laughed when I practiced on them.
In line waiting to go through customs, another lady struck up conversation with me (and insisted upon giving me her number and telling me that I must call her.) She had two girls, a five-year-old and a ten-year-old, who I befriended immediately. She helped me get a taxi and explained to the driver where to go, which made our lives easier! He tried to ask me to pay him ten USD and I was like yeah no, let’s try rial. He would have taken 200,000 rial as I haggled, but I gave him 300,000 for no good reason other than that I felt bad since that’s like four or five USD.
I’m struggling with the hotel wifi, but managed to get an email to my parents to let them know I’m alive. (I’m horrible to them.) I also can’t manage to turn off the big light…life’s a struggle. And nowhere in Dubai had power adaptors so thank goodness for my portable battery because me without my kindle would be a bad thing.
Even if it’s just to the Esfahan airport and they deny me a visitor’s visa, I’m going to Iran.
I’d never thought too much about Iran, knowing very little about their role in US history, until I took AP Comparative Government and Politics in high school. One of the six countries we studied was Iran. and I was absolutely fascinated by their form of government–a theocratic democracy? What? Yes! All my yeses! Not to mention all the history of the Persian Empire. A love was born.
At dinner today, a friend asked me why, if English is my favourite major, I also study Political Science. I gave her some rambling answer about how dystopian literature is my favourite genre and dystopias are generally just like our world with a few governmental changes. After I said this, I realised it was true. And I think one of the reasons I’ve been so fascinated with Iran is because their government is so dissimilar to anything else that it almost is like a dystopia. They have a Supreme Leader and a President, a Guardian Council and an Expediency Council, an Assembly of Experts and a Parliament. It’s so. cool.
But the best part about any story, about any culture, is the people. We watched a film called Our Summer in Tehran in APCoGoPo, a touching film that gave me insights into various Iranian films. (I highly recommend it.) Everything I’ve read points to Iran having incredibly welcoming and sweet people. Also, Iran is filled with so much history. I’ve decided that instead of planning everything to a tee, I’ll take things destination by destination. That hasn’t stopped me from compiling a lengthy list of what I do want to see.
When I looked at flights from Dubai to “anywhere” and realized Iran was, next to Oman, the cheapest destination from the UAE, I knew then that it was going to happen. And I’m kind of stubborn when I decide things are happening. I’ve read a lot of travel blogs since then, and I’ve come away with the impression that Iranians are the sweetest, most welcoming people. A lot of people seem to think I’m going to be eaten upon arrival or that I’ll end up in prison for holding a US passport, but I think I’m being realistic and not optimistic in thinking that my biggest trouble will be surviving without Nutella for a week. (And the language barrier, again. Why am I not fluent in Farsii?)
Due to some, how shall we put it, hassles, with flights, I’m going tomorrow and not in four days on Tuesday like planned. I’m actually kind of glad it worked out like this. I was supposed to have two exams on Monday, but both were cancelled–if I was the type of person who believed in signs, that would be a sign. My original plan didn’t allow time to see Persepolis!
My plan as of now is to stay in Esfahan for three nights, go to Shiraz for two, and then go to Tehran, where I’ll fly out, for the last two. My flight back to Dubai gets in at 7:00AM next Sunday and I have class at 9:00 for which I haven’t done homework, but I’ll worry about that later. Honestly, my biggest concern now is that I was feeling pretty miserable the past three days and not the best today. (And I don’t get sick. I refuse to get sick for more than 24 hours.) But I told my body it’s going to Iran so it’s not allowed to be sick. There’s also that minor chance that I’ll be denied a tourist visa. (Apparently US passports emit little beams and Iranian passport officials then track them down, and I need my US passport to leave the UAE so… Oh well.)
I have a Lonely Planet travel guide (from the library.) I have a map (printed, just to my hotel.) I have my passports. I don’t have rial yet (since NOWHERE in Dubai converts!) but I have UAE dirham and US dollars (which are apparently taken in many places–weird.) I have registered with the New Zealand embassy. I have shawls/head scarves and a long skirt. Please be excited for me instead of worrying irrationally–I honestly didn’t even think this would ever be possible, let alone actually happen. (Rant likely forthcoming on how judgements and the ladder of inference.) I won’t likely be able to Facebook message, but I’ll be posting here and checking email as possible.
Anyone want souvenirs? I can bring up to $100USD worth back to the States with me next summer–a generous allowance, right?
So far, we’ve only been to one souq; however, that souq has provided us with plenty of adventure. The textile souq is smaller than the legendary gold and spice souqs, and is more what the collection of shops in the area is referred to than a real open air bazaar, yet it still managed to utterly confuse us.
The Arabic Teahouse we ate at our first venture.
Our first venture to the textile souq was with a bigger group, but three of us split off to explore and shop. I was overwhelmed by merely the first shop we entered, which had racks upon racks of gorgeous garments in all different styles, some more Western, and some very specific such as Pakistani kurtis. The prices were all relatively inexpensive as well.
We had limited time as we had to meet up with our other friends for dinner then; however, one friend found a lovely garment that the saleslady offered to tailor for free. I was relatively certain that I’d remember where the shop had been, and sure enough, once we left I knew exactly where we were and where to meet our friends.
The other two girls went back that week and spent about four hours trying to find the shop to no avail…
Saturday, I booked flights to Iran and realized I needed a long skirt and a proper headscarf to respect their dress code, so when the two asked me to go back with them to locate the shop, I obliged. I was sure I knew exactly where it was.
However, the shop wasn’t in the block I thought it was in, to my astonishment. I was positive that had been the street we had walked down. I could picture the shop in my mind–it was on a bigish street that ran perpendicular to the main road; it was about yay long and thus had an alley behind it, and it was the first street off the main road. The other two had entirely different mental images of the shop.
I remembered enough to be able to retrace our steps from the previous trip, and eventually found the store–it was half a block further than I had thought it was, making me very frustrated with myself for giving up so quickly. The girls swore they had passed it at least four or five times, showing how fickle the memory is and how mazelike the streets are, especially since most shops sold very similar items.
We ate a triumphant dinner at a ‘mom and pop’ Indian restaurant, where we shared a cramped table with a friendly man from India.
The salesmen on the streets are extremely pushy, wanting to sell us brand name handbags, perfumes, and jewellery. At one point, I got so frustrated with one that I said “Look at my shoes–do you really think I care about handbags?” I was wearing my beloved versatile Chacos and had a military-green messenger bag for holding basically nothing but a waterbottle and my wallet.
My biggest struggle with the souqs is how convincing the shopkeepers are. I know myself, and I know that once I’ve had someone show me a few items I’ll feel obligated to buy it. If they tell me anything about themselves, they’ve made their money. Thus, I got much better at extracting prices from them at first glance.
The last shop we went into had some lovely headscarves that, using the haggling skills I’d learned from watching my friends, I got for a reasonable price–though as he’d told me his life story by that point, I probably would have paid a lot more so as not to feel bad! I also found a skirt suitable for Iran, to my delight.
Though I’m still by no means a shopper, I had a lot of fun seeing display upon display of fabric in all different colours and designs. It’s really quite incredible, and I know I’ll be returning to buy gifts for more feminine friends.
The Dubai Marina extends relatively far. On our second day here, two of my friends and I made it to the section closest to campus and we weren’t very impressed. The heat was deadly at around 13:00 and the harbour was just some water surrounded by buildings with boats in it.
Our second venture, however, happened at night, and was to the section of the marina surrounded by a promenade, a more upscale area. (So upscale that a friendly full-time student accompanying us internationals suggested that all meals would be at least 200 dirham, or $60-70USD.
Few people were out meandering the promenade alongside us, and I was once again hit by how peaceful the water made everything seem. The buildings across the way looked so huge, even from where we were.
After much deliberation over our many options, we ended up eating at a Romanian restaurant overlooking the water. This was a simple but gorgeous evening.
As we have school Sunday through Thursday, Saturdays have become our Sundays. At school in the US, I’d normally spend my Sundays working in the library with friends, a blanket, and a lot of Nutella. This Sunday, my friends and I went on a boat cruise in the Dubai Creek, touring Old Dubai.
Our group picture, taken by a cruise photographer.
After we set sail, we attacked the buffet of mostly Indian-style food, which was delicious despite how cheap the experience had been. They had custard, to my delight, though they didn’t do it the correct way us Kiwis do. I also had my first experience with awwameh, doughy desert balls in a sweet syrup.
Our boat passed many other tours in the Dubai Creek. Though it was too hot, I loved standing at the railing and staring off at all of the lights. Water grounds me and despite a little bit of my perpetual melancholy, I felt calm thinking of all the worlds around the water.
I saw my first stars since coming to Dubai. I haven’t really been out of the city yet, and after a summer in Zion where there are a hundred zillion stars every night, it’s weird not to have twinkling nights as constant companions. But it’s still the same sky, and the same moon that my friends and people all over the world gaze at.
This was my first shot at using the camera on the smartphone I bought to host my UAE number. I think I’ll be sticking to the old and trusty Windows Phone still!
The architecture of Old Dubai especially was magical and I loved getting to go through Dubai on a boat–it was definitely a unique and enchanting experience.
On a lovely Saturday morning we kayaked around the Palm Jumeirah. 8:30 is far too early for a weekend; however, even then it was approximately ten million degrees (Celcius) and the water was warmer than a bath. Still, it was incredibly peaceful and quiet to be out on the Gulf. The water was salty but rather clear and we found several starfish friends.
A screenshot of Google Maps.
The Palm Jumeirah is an artificial island, or a series of artificial islands, depending on how you want to view it. It looks small on the map, but is actually massive, and the picture of luxury. My friend claimed he could see the nearby World islands through the haze on our way back to school, which also sound like incredible feats of construction.
I took all of these photos through a Ziploc bag (though I didn’t actually fall unintentionally into the water; nor did I throw my phone whimsically into the ocean!) so the quality is ethereal. (Or murky. Perspective!)
some baseline observations on having been in Dubai for a week.
I lived in the melting pot known as San Francisco for six years, but San Francisco is a child’s primary colours in contrast to the spectrum of people Dubai hosts. To my delight, I made my first friend from Iran last night–born, raised, and only here for his master’s. I’m learning to stop exclaiming when I meet someone from Egypt, or from Saudi Arabia, or from Palestine. Less then ten percent of Dubai is native. For the first time, I’m meeting people who, similarly to me, are unsure how to respond when asked where they’re from. This is by far one of the most outstanding aspects of Dubai, though it’s sometimes overwhelming to find so many people from such varying backgrounds–I’ve realised I don’t even know what I want to know about and ask of everyone. I’m unfortunately not going to become proficient in Arabic here; I’ve yet to encounter someone who hasn’t spoken English.
The general atmosphere of Dubai is very laid-back, and everyone is pleasant and eager to answer questions. In regards to culture especially, people are open to inquiries. Many people on the streets are hesitant to make eye contact, and a lot of people are professional with the busy vibe, yet even these people will aid anyone who finds themselves lost.
My sunglasses fog up with condensation each time I walk outside due to the miserable heat and humidity. After a summer hiking in Utah, I thought I’d be more accustomed to this weather; however, even a short walk to the nearby marina is barely bearable. The university’s outdoor swimming pool is actually closer to a swimming spa than a swimming bath. The dress code, however, is very relaxed, and while I’ve mostly been wearing shirts and leggings with my dresses, I could get away with less.
Tap water isn’t supposed to be for drinking here (though I’m still alive!) and as such almost everyone goes through disposable water bottles at an alarming rate. The university only has approximately three recycling bins. That’s a problem, and irks me to the extreme–I’ve just spent a summer in Zion, where the sale of disposable water is banned.
I am taking five classes as I would in the US, and I am continuing my internship remotely. Nonetheless, I find myself with far fewer commitments than normal and a lot of time to hang out with intriguing people.
And my most favourite part of Dubai yet? The sun. There’s just something about a Middle Eastern sun. I haven’t yet found a favourite sunset place close by the university, but I’m still marvelling at how round and orange it seems as it falls through the sky here.
