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Then I see what they're muttering/glowering about: several (like, fifteen) members of the United States Navy, on shore leave.You can tell they're Navy because they're huge and tattooed and innocently happy and keep bellowing things like, "Dude, fuck that, I am all dancing!
One of the Arab kids, the one with the Chico hair, passes a drenched cigarette to me, to pass to his friend, and then a lighter, and suddenly everybody's smiling—me, the Arab Mars, the sunburned German girls, the U. Still bobbing around (three days before the resort bombings in Cairo, two weeks after the London bombings), I think-mumble a little prayer for the great homogenizing effect of pop culture: Same us out, Lord MTV!
A rung down from the Emiratis are some 200,000 expats (mostly Brits but also other Europeans, Russians, Lebanese, Indians) who comprise a kind of managerial class: the marketing people, the hotel managers, the human-resource gurus, the accountants, the lawyers, etc.
But the vast majority of Dubai's expat population—roughly two-thirds of it—comes from poorer countries all around the world, mainly South Asia or Africa.
It has been called the Vegas of the Middle East, but Dubai goes way, way beyond that: By 2010, if all goes according to plan, it may well be the greatest city on earth. A guided tour through steroidal capitalism, world revolution, and the finest hotel rooms money can buy If you are like I was three weeks ago, before I went to Dubai, you may not know exactly where Dubai is. If America was looking for a pluralistic, tax-free, laissez-faire, diverse, inclusive, tolerant, no-holds-barred, daringly capitalist country to serve as a shining City on the Hill for the entire Middle East, we should have left Iraq alone and sponsored a National Peaceful Tourist Excursion to Dubai and spent our 90 quadrillion Iraq War dollars there.
Somewhere north of Pakistan, an idyllic mountain kingdom ruled by gentle goatherds? You might also not know, as I did not know, what Dubai is all about or why someone would want to send you there. By 2010, if all goes according to plan, Dubai will have: the world's tallest skyscraper (2,300 feet), largest mall, biggest theme park, longest indoor ski run, most luxurious underwater hotel (accessible by submarine train); a huge (2,000-acre, 60,000-resident) development called International City, divided into nation-neighborhoods (England, China, France, Greece, etc.) within which all homes will be required to reflect the national architectural style; not to mention four artificially constructed island mega-archipelagoes (three shaped like giant palm trees, the fourth like a map of the world) built using a specially designed boat that dredges up tons of ocean-bottom sand each day and sprays it into place.
Afterward, I reconvene with my former line mates in a sort of faux river bend.
Becalmed, traffic-jammed, we bob around in our tubes, trying to keep off one another via impotent little hand flips, bare feet accidentally touching ("Ha, wope, sorry, heh…"), legs splayed, belly-up in the blinding 112-degree Arabian sun, self-conscious and expectant, as in: "Are we, like, stuck here? I hope I'm not the one who drifts under that dang No one is glowering or muttering now. There will be no pure Arab, no pure Jew, no pure American-American.The site is crisscrossed by 2.3 miles of fake creeks, trolled night and day by dozens of fake Arabian water taxis () piloted by what I can only describe as fake Arabs because, though dressed like old-timey Arabs, they are actually young, smiling, sweet-hearted guys from Nepal or Kenya or the Philippines, who speak terrific English as they pilot the soundless electrical through this lush, created Arabia, looking for someone to take back to the lobby, or to the largest outdoor pool in the Middle East, or over to Trader Vic's, which is also themed and looks something like a mysterious ancient Casbah inexplicably filled with beautiful contemporary people.. ), what I found during my stay at the Madinat is that irony is actually my first response to tepid, lame Theming.In the belly of radical Theming, my first response was to want to stay forever, bring my family over, set up shop in my hut-evoking villa, and never go home again. The air is perfumed, you hear fountains, the tinkling of bells, distant chanted prayers, and when the (real) Arabian moon comes up, yellow and attenuated, over a (fake) Arabian wind tower, you feel you are a resident of some ancient city—or rather, some ancient city if you had dreamed the ancient city, and the ancient city had been purged of all disease, death, and corruption, and you were a Founder/Elder of that city, much beloved by your Citizens, the Staff.Even if, in the process, we are left a little dumber, please proceed.Let us, brothers and sisters, leave the intolerant, the ideologues, the religious Islamist Bolsheviks, our own solvers-of-problems-with-troops behind, fully clothed, on the banks of Wild Wadi.You have somehow entered the landscape of a dream, the Platonic realization of the idea of Ancient Village—but there are real smells here, and when, a little dazzled, you mutter to yourself ("This is like a freaking dream, I love it, I, wow…"), you don't wake up, but instead a smiling Filipino kid comes up and asks if you'd like a drink.