You have just flown 15 hours. It is nine at night where you are, 9 in the morning where you were and your body is crying out for a swim. You put on your swimsuit and appropriate cover-up, this being Dubai, where many women are draped in abeyas and go in search of the pool. Kindly staff direct you to the palm fringed, turquoise-tiled intricately shaped water. Problem: the pool is surrounded by tents and groups of gentlemen relaxing with shisha pipes. No one is swimming. Torn between offending and needing to move before dinner and sleep, you pause for an instant. The maitre d assures you the pool is open until 10 pm.
Later, Dick and I will return to this same space, with me fully dressed. We'll have Arabic pickled vegetables and dried garlic flavored yoghurt reduced to small balls, stuffed grape leaves, okra salad, garbanzo and lentil soup with a rich lamb base. We'll drink lemonade with cucumber or mint. All the flavors crisp, distinct, fresh. It is our first night at the Palace in Old Town, and we fall asleep looking out over the man made lake that reflects every glittering light.
To swim or not to swim? The maitre d takes me to a group of divans and chairs. I quickly remove my scarf and calf length dress, and in my modest one piece suit, with goggles, slipped into the intricately tiled pool. I swim about 1000 yards, and then the spectacular fountain midst the lake begins its fireworks to music. The tune is one of my favorites "Time to Say Goodbye." Everyone on the lakeside terrace turns to watch, and I take advantage of the moment to slip out of the pool and back into my clothing.
Is Dubai like Disney Land or Las Vegas, two places I detest? Like perhaps, but far from the same. Dubai isn't imitating anything.
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