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May 23, 2005

Souks, Water Taxis and Kabobs

Wind towers in Dubai's Bastakia district

After Sunday's conference sessions, I returned to the hotel around 4pm, spending about an hour at the pool with Ivar Tallo of Estonia. Currently the director of the Estonian E-Governance Academy, Ivar is a former member of parliament and foreign policy advisor to the president; he told some great stories of traveling with the Estonian president to meet with Bill Clinton and Boris Yeltsin to negotiate the withdrawal of Russian troops from Estonia in the early 90s.

Around 6:30pm, Ivar and I caught a taxi to spend the evening in old Dubai. Traffic was horrendous; the usually 15-minute drive took more than 45 minutes, so the sun had set by the time we neared the creek. There was so much traffic we eventually abandoned the taxi and walked the remaining blocks to the creek. This turned out to be a good decision, since Ivar hadn't visited the old city before; it gave us a chance to walk through the Bastakia neighborhood, with its beautifully restored wind towers, each circulating air to cool the shops at ground level.

Soon we arrived at the abra water taxi station. Large crowds of Indian men were coming and going from the water taxis; we joined the crowd and made our way onto a boat, struggling to find a place to sit. We then got to experience an abra traffic jam: our boat collided with no less than five other boats, each honking their horns like Bombay traffic, the drivers shouting at each other to get out of the way.

A blurry view from the abra water taxi facing towards Dubai's Deira district

Traveling by water taxi is thrilling by day, but mysterious by night. Because the creek isn't lighted, you can't always see what's around you. If you're lucky, other abras coming in your direction will have a small lamp at the front; as they approach you can make out the silhouettes of the passengers. To the left, the dhow wharf was crowded with large wooden ships moored together like sardines. It was too dark to make out any details as to what goods they were carrying, though for a moment I thought I saw an SUV lashed to one of them. Fortunately, there was a full moon, not to mention the lights emanating from the minarets of the local mosques and giant neon signs on surrounding buildings. Otherwise, the creek was all darkness.

The boat soon collided with the dock on the Deira side of the creek; several Indian men had already casually jumped off the boat before the rest of the crowd waited for the docking before following suit. Ivar and I walked ashore and took an underground walkway to reach the entrance of the Spice Souk. Unlike my previous daytime visit to the souk, the bazaar was bustling at night, with most of the shops open for business. Huge bins of herbs, incense and spices lined each storefront: sage, oregano, cumin, cardamom, peppers, dried lemons, frankincense, myrrh. The smell was overpowering, but quite enjoyable. As we walked by the shops, aggressive salesmen would come out and break open a dried lemon under our faces, trying to get us to buy a kilo or two to bring home. Saying no thanks, whether in English, Arabic or Hindi, seemed to make no difference, so the only option was to ignore them altogether.

After exploring the spice market for a while we weaved through side streets heading east, hoping to find the gold souk. I soon realized we'd gone a little south of the souk, so we took a left and backtracked until reaching the souk's entrance. The souk, a long corridor with a decorative wooden roof, was jammed with shoppers from all over the world: Brits, Americans, Japanese, Russians, Lebanese, Kenyans, Iranians, Saudis, Indians. Wherever you looked, you could find people staring into the storefronts or negotiating with shop owners inside their air-conditioned show rooms. And no wonder: displayed in each window you would find an incredible collection of gold. I'm not talking about an elegant display of delicate necklaces and earrings, but an in-your face, over-the-top bonanza of 24 karat chains, tiaras, belts suitable for a welterweight champion, bangles as thick as PVC pipes. Amazingly, the gold looked almost like costume jewelry; the color and texture seemed very fake to me, I was so used to seeing only 14k and 18k gold.

Necklaces for sale in the Gold Souk

We browsed the shops, marveling at the display of wealth in each window. Every few moments, Indian men would approach us and utter a familiar mantra: "Fake Watch Rolex Breitling Omega Fake Watch" repeated again and again. I was attempted to play with one of them and say I was insulted that he assumed I couldn't afford the real deal, but I figured that something would get lost in the translation and it'd open a can of worms.

From the gold souk, we cut through various side streets towards the perfume souk. You could smell it from several blocks away; once getting there, each shop was crammed with Arab men negotiating prices for perfume, hand mixed on the counter from a vast selection of essences stored in ornate glass bottles along the wall. Continuing towards the creek, we passed the electronics souk and what appeared to be a kitchen wares souk. Ivar stopped at a couple of shops looking for a particular onion slicing contraption but never found what he was looking for.

It was now approaching 9pm; I suggested we get something to eat at one of the Persian restaurants along a strip of shops one block away from the creek. We passed several options, including the Hatam Restaurant, where I'd eaten in 2002, before finally settling on the Teheran Restaurant, which offered outdoor seating. The eccentric waiter insisted on getting us to order before we'd looked at the menu, which Ivar and I declined; he also didn't understand why we would want to order something to drink with dinner.

Eventually, Ivar and I ordered kabobs -- no surprise, since kabobs were the only options on the menu. I picked a mixed grill for 25 dirhams (about $7). The platter included ground beef, lamb and chicken, with a side order of yogurt, an enormous piece of flatbread (about the size of a tabloid newspaper), and a large plate of vegetables, including mint, watercress, radishes, onions and scallions. The food was delicious, though a bit messy; rather than napkins the waiter gave us a box of Kleenex, which couldn't compete with the kabob juices and yogurt drips. Meanwhile, several Emiratis sporting Bluetooth wireless earpieces smoked shishas while watching the horrendous Bruce Willis film Hudson Hawk. An Arabic translation of each character's lines was read by a single narrator, no matter the character's age or gender.

After dinner, we walked along the creek and the dhow wharf towards the water taxis, past the beautiful and modern Iran Bank Melli building. We were tempted to catch a taxi from the Deira side of the creek, but traffic was terrible and we didn't know how long it would take to cross the creek over a bridge due to the gridlock. Besides, taking an abra gave us one more chance to experience Dubai from the water.

View of a mosque in Bur Dubai as seen from the water taxi

Climbing onto an abra, I handed the driver a single dirham coin for both of us; we then navigated down the creek towards the Bur Dubai side. The minarets were still glowing a golden hue from the floodlights at their base; there was also a charming creek-side restaurant not far from the Bastakia quarter and its famous wind towers. I shot some video on my digital camera as we rode back; hopefully I'll be able to edit into a short Web documentary when I get some free time.

Once back on dry land, we walked one block to an intersection and quickly hailed a taxi. The ride back to the hotel was a fraction of the time it took to get there during rush hour, which was a major relief. This gave me just enough time to head upstairs, skype with Susanne and the cats back in Boston, and get to sleep by 11:30pm.

Posted by acarvin at May 23, 2005 3:01 AM

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