Desert Passage

Dubai has been called the Las Vegas of the Middle East——a fabricated playground for the nouveau riche. Zero in on the world’s most-talked-about destination.

By Ron Donoho

THE HIGH-CHEEKBONED, Romanian flight attendant on Emirates Airline gracefully serves mushroom omelets on white china. A 16-hour flight to Dubai——nonstop from Los Angeles——is bearable in business class aboard this new Boeing 777-200LR aircraft. Passengers have more than 100 movies and network TV shows to view on personal screens, while resting on seats that recline 180 degrees.

Two meals are served en route, but the galley is always open. And when I rise to get a snack, I’m engaged in conversation with a Pakistani flight attendant. She is curious about the dubious American practice of zero-percent-down mortgages. And she congratulates our country on electing Barack Obama (a sentiment repeated numerous times during a week-long trip).

Dubai is the capital city within its eponymous state ——one of seven states, the largest being Abu Dhabi——in the Middle Eastern country of United Arab Emirates. Dubai is a Westernized city with uncommon amounts of construction and wealth (just 6 percent of its economy is based on oil production; its stock market took a big hit late last year). How many condos and hotels are being built? Estimates range up to 500 at the beginning of 2009. Between 20 and 40 percent of the world’s construction cranes are in use in the city. Pundits say “the crane” should be considered the state bird.

English is spoken nearly everywhere and printed on most signs. Expatriates——predominantly Europeans, but any group gathering looks like a United Colors of Benetton ad——make up 80 percent of the population. While it’s common to see Emerati women dressed in the traditional abayas that cover them from head to toe, visitors dress however they see fit——though women who show a lot of skin risk being judged as someone with, ahem, loose morals.

One night in a bar complex at the Dubai Marine Resort & Spa, a girl band called Triple XXX rocks the lounge. A sort-of Pussycat Dolls of the Desert, they wear delving tank tops, short plaid skirts and black boots. Progressive? Sure. But my visit comes just weeks after British paramours made international headlines by getting arrested on Jumeirah Beach for drunkenly engaging in an overt sexual escapade. The offense garnered each a three-month detainment.

DUBAI’S DOWNTOWN financial district—— about 15 minutes from the airport——has an ever-growing cache of upscale hotels. The Fairmont Dubai, modeled after an Arabic barajeel (wind tunnel), has terraced rooftop pools and has hosted Sir Elton John, Kanye West and Sir Richard Branson. A velvetropes club called 300, hidden beneath the Fairmont, rivals any found in Miami’s South Beach.

With exteriors modeled after the great pyramids of Egypt, Raffles Dubai is an all suites hotel, its sublime, elegant guest rooms with private patios and panoramic views of the ever-expanding city. Cuban cigars are legal, and Raffles has a Cuban émigré rolling them near an outdoor patio bar.

The Shangri-La Hotel Dubai has an exclusive Horizon Club Lounge that serves breakfast daily and complimentary cocktails nightly. In its iKandy lounge, liquor and sheesha (flavored tobacco) are served——but don’t get up and shake your groove thang; there’s no dancing license here. The Shangri-La presidential suite has hosted musicians Pink, Akon and Enrique Iglesias (and girlfriend Anna Kournikova). George Clooney also made the scene, filming several moments here that appeared in the film Syrianna.

Downtown Dubai also includes Jumeirah Beach and several waterfront resorts. Madinat Jumeirah, three hotels in one, is authentically Arabian styled. The property holds a re-created ancient souk (marketplace). Wooden abras (water taxis) shuttle guests to and from rooms and restaurants.

You’ve probably seen images of the iconic Burj Al Arab. The resort is shaped like a sailboat and rests on its own island just off the beach in the Arabian Gulf. The property is all suites——and each lavishly decorated room has two floors, connected by a gold-plated stairway. Liberace and Elvis would feel right at home. Each suite contains 11 phones and a laptop computer. Should any need or concern arise, a butler is waiting around the clock.

Days after I leave Dubai, the Atlantis mega-resort opens on The Palm Jumeirah, the revolutionary manmade Gulf island. The 1,500- room spectacle opened in late November 2008 with a $25 million, celebrity-studded fête. I’m not sure which was the more audacious display of wealth——the Atlantis’ party fireworks (which could be seen from outer space) or the frigid, indoor Ski Dubai facility (two slopes with real snow and a working ski lift) in operation at the huge Mall of the Emirates.

IT COULD BE EASY to forget Dubai is in the middle of a desert——especially while schussing down a snowy hill inside the world’s largest mega-mall. As unusual as it might sound, the desert offers a respite to the Vegas-without-the-gaming-city vibe.

From downtown, it’s less than an hour drive to Al Maha Desert Resort & Spa, inside an enormous gated conservation area. The preserve is home to lizards, gazelles and Arabian oryx, members of the antelope family with long, sweeping horns. (Ten years ago, 70 oryx were brought here from the San Diego Zoo; now there are more than 300.)

The serene resort is designed to look like a Bedouin encampment. But the circular, tent-like exteriors of individual rooms belie upscale interiors. The desert-roaming Bedouin tribes never had it so good. There are 42 suites in all, most with temperature-controlled swimming pools, handcrafted Arabian antiques and artifacts and Bulgari amenities. And each has a set of binoculars——for gazing out at the shifting red sand dunes, the far-off Hajar Mountains and the gazelles and oryx that come to drink at watering holes. During the filming of Syrianna, Matt Damon “camped” here.

For a little more of a desert action adventure, I try “dune bashing.” Arabian Adventures takes guests out for an hour of roller-coaster riding on the sand dunes. First, the driver lets some of the air out of the tires on the Toyota Land Cruisers. Then we go up and down on the shifting sands. Beware: Throwing up is not uncommon. I’m on the verge of puking when we stop to take sunset pictures.

After our photo shoot, a caravan of SUVs makes a path to the Sundowner desert dinner. We’re going to party like Bedouins. There are camel rides available, and a traditional hot dinner is served. The party kicks in when a belly dancer takes the stage. She invites spectators up to shake their pendulous, meat-and-cheese–filled bellies. And when the undulating is over, we cap the night by turning off the lights for a few minutes of on-your-back star gazing.

Subsequently, we’re driven back to the bright lights of the ever expanding big city. I’m informed that until recently, United Arab Emirates was (to borrow from U2) “Where the Streets Have No Name.” Emeratis simply knew where they were headed, or gave directions toward a prominent landmark. That’s still the case in outlying areas. But new street signs in the cosmopolitan section of Dubai are perhaps the least obtrusive signal that a new day has dawned.