Delhi to Dubai. Quite a contrast. One a sprawling, hectic overcrowded and poverty-stricken megalopolis, and one a manicured, intentionally designed tourist trap geared to the affluent. They both have their charms, and they were adjoining stops on our long leisurely trek between volunteer positions. We were especially looking forward to Dubai, since it would be our first time there.

Delhi

During our brief return to Delhi, we’re staying in a cozy little apartment booked through Airbnb, with a rather cool mood light that changes colors. It’s not far from the Museum Of Toilets, Museum Of Toilets?? You must admit that would be pretty hard to pass, as it were. So, while we have an appointment across town in the afternoon, we head to the headquarters of the heads. Unfortunately, when we arrive there we find that it doesn’t open until 10:00, which is still an hour in the future.

As we wait for the magic hour of 10:00 — and debate whether we even have time to take in the museum today — we amble a few more blocks to do a bit of shopping at a hypermart called Rajmandir, which turns out to be pretty decent. All four of them. Yes, there are four, count them four, outlets of the same chain within a stretch of about two blocks. Ultimately, we decide that there isn’t really time to be privy to the presentation of porcelain thrones, and we’ll have to save it for our next trip to Delhi.

So instead we hop on a Metro, and after three trains and a few blocks of shoeleather express, we arrive at the site of our appointment– a towering apartment complex, the home of Madhu, with whom we’d become acquainted a few weeks earlier in Devikhet. He’s involved in mounting a website for the Winter Camp for girls that we assisted with, and Kimberly is helping him with its implementation.

After we are ushered up to his tastefully furnished apartment, we meet his wife, and then he and Kimberly sit and go over the website for a while. And then we are served an excellent lunch, including some kind of pickled vegetables that we’ve never seen before, and a wonderful (and not too sweet) dessert made from carrots.

On the way back to our apartment, we decide to grab a tuk-tuk and be done with it, rather than make the lengthy circuit of trains again. As we’re waiting for our ride, a motorbike with two guys on it pulls up to talk to us — well, the guys talk to us, not the moto. Naturally, they want to pose for selfies with us, which is de rigueur in India. One of them, sporting a large cross on his neck, informs us that he is a Christian — the third person in about as many days who felt we were entitled to know their religious affiliation. He also tells us that he is a motorcycle stunt man, and he starts pulling up a Youtube video to prove it. And we’re genuinely interested in getting a peek, but before we can do so, our tuk-tuk arrives.

Early the next morning, we leave the apartment to catch a taxi to the airport, and our host is up to see us off. It’s a long, laborious check-in process with a security line that flows more sluggishly than mud in February. Once again, we have to dump out all the contents of all our bags, and barely get reassembled in time to board the plane.

It’s a fairly pleasant flight, on a plane with windows adorned with Arabian Nights style motifs on the outside. Our magic carpet to Dubai. And surprisingly, it comes with a pretty good meal.

Dubai

After landing in Dubai, when we go through immigration they give us a free SIM card to use during our stay. But it has a number of restrictions, and we decide it would be impractical for us to actually use. But still, pretty nifty that they present all travelers with a little gift upon arrival. Then we make our way to the Metro station and, after figuring out the confusing fares and tickets with the aid of an agent, we board a train for a ride of about 45 minutes to the neighborhood where we will be staying, near Old Town. After getting off at the Metro station, it’s a walk of only a couple of blocks to our Airbnb, on the 6th floor of an apartment building.

We have a comfy little room in an apartment that also has two other guest rooms, but for the time being we’re the only occupants. There’s a shared kitchen with a washing machine. Evidently, the host really has a phobia, because there’s a sign admonishing guests not to cook anything too smelly, and he’s posted the same stipulation on his Airbnb listing. Really makes you wonder exactly what somebody once cooked here.

It’s a rather active neighborhood (though also rather quiet) with lots of shops, including three or four well stocked supermarkets. Looks like a pretty good place to spend a week. We already have some of the currency of the United Arab Emirates (the monetary unit is called the dirham, as it is in Morocco — though they’re different dirhams) left over from a previous layover in Abu Dhabi, so we’re set for a day or so until we can get to a suitable ATM.

We take a stroll through Old Town’ Old City/ Old Village, which we gather existed in some form for at least some period of time before the contemporary tourist rush and its ultra-modern architecture and amenities. This neighborhood, if that’s what you’d call it, consists mostly of shops, restaurants and other establishments to rake in the dirhams. and it’s situated on what is called Dubai Creek — though it’s much too scenic to be labeled as a creek. It connects to the Persian Gulf only a short distance away, and it’s not at all a creek-y little body of water such as you’d expect to wade across or catch tadpoles in, but more resembles a lagoon, and has picturesque tour boats on it.

About half (from what we can tell) of Old Town is sealed off because it’s under renovation. The coin museum and the cultural center — both attractions we’d be interested in taking a peek at — were also closed. So in the space of two days, we’d missed a chance to see both coins and toilets on display. The cultural center is opening about an hour later, and there is a waiting room with not much room for waiting. But several tourists are already occupying the seats, and they are being captivated by a local fellow, dressed in his traditional white Arabic attire, regaling them with anecdotes about his extensive extended family.

Not being particularly in a mood to wait in a crowded waiting room, we instead meander through the neighborhood examining the establishments that are already open. There are overpriced restaurants, including at least one with camel meat on the menu. We’re not sure how we’d feel about that even if we were carnivores.

There are also dozens of overpriced shops, many with bins out front enticing the curious with a dazzling array of soaps, sweets, spices, knickknacks, beads and bric-a-brac. Many of them have carnival-style barkers stationed out front to persuade the spenders to enter. We stray into one sweets emporium to browse, and Dennis eagerly accepts a free sample of a local special, a nugget of white chocolate surrounding a date, and topped with an almond. (Kimberly turns it down, being a brown chocolate snob.) He’s quite impressed — Dubai, it seems, is deservedly renowned for its chocolate — and the salesman begins urging him to acquire more to take home. It would have been tempting, except for the fact that the price tag was 150 dirhams for a kilo — which is about 19 bucks per pound. We decline, and later we discover that the same product is sold in a department store a few blocks away for about one fourth as much.

This little “village” has an authentic look to it, and indeed it’s almost too authentic. Too pristine and orderly, too iconic, too Disney. Makes us wonder just how old the “old” sector really is — or rather, to what extent it’s been commercialized to appeal to western tourists. We gather that it’s been extensive, considering that there are a Circle K and a Peet’s Coffee tucked withing the folds of the traditional architecture.

Still, it’s not a bad little introduction to Dubai, and it leaves us eager to see more.

Events occurred: 1/31-2/2/2025