#5 - Inside the Burj Al Arab hotel - looking up at the balconies

I've been surprised by how many people (here in Redneck Valley, no less!) have heard of Dubai. But not for the reason I expected. Often when I would tell someone that we were headed to Dubai, I would see recognition register on the person's face, and so I would plow forward to help facilitate the connection. "Yeah, the Dubai ports deal? That whole controversy? That's where we're going." In response to this, I'd receive a blank look. Confused, even. And then the person would say (sometimes condescendingly, I might add), "Dubai, right? Isn't that the place with that hotel that looks like a sail?" Well yeah, there is that, too.

The Burj Al Arab is currently the most prominent landmark in Dubai, and it certainly symbolizes the city. It's the tallest building in the world that is used exclusively as a hotel. (The lobby/atrium is open all the way to the top floor, and it's so tall that the Washington Monument would fit inside.) It advertises itself as the world's only 7-star hotel. It's situated on a man-made island and you have to drive across a bridge to get there and your name has to be on The List in order to even be allowed access to the bridge. The interior of the hotel is posh and luxurious. Like Dubai, the Burj Al Arab is fabulously ridiculous.

When planning our trip, we decided early on that we had to stay at that hotel. Because it is so Dubai. Because we'll likely never be there again. Because we were giddy just talking about it. Because we never do shit like that. (See how I'm attempting to justify this decision? That's the guilt talking. Because this place is way hella fucking expensive, oh my god. The kind of expensive that caused us, when speaking the number aloud, to whisper. You know, as if we might be able to conceal the cost from our rational selves.)

We split the cost with Mojo and F, which helped ease the guilt. And then. THEN. When we checked in? We totally got an upgrade. "Compliments of the hotel." They put us in a two-bedroom suite that, during peak season, costs $2,500/night. (We paid way less than that so, as Mojo would claim, it was "basically free.")

The interior of the hotel - looking down from the floor we stayed on, and from the top

So, the hotel. First of all, every "room" in the Burj is a two-story suite. The suite we were in had two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a dressing room, a powder room, a living room, a sitting room, a dining room, a bar, an office area, and a kitchen. It had more square feet than our house. Than our house, people! (This is perhaps reasonable considering the suite cost the equivalent of our monthly mortgage.) There were floor-to-ceiling windows. Remote-controlled curtains. Hermés toiletries in the bathrooms. A laptop to use while we were there. Complimentary fruit, pastries, and wine. Brought to us by our butler. Oh, I almost forgot. WE HAD A BUTLER.

Our butler, in tails, gives us a tour of the Royal Suite

[side story in the style of mrtl] I lost my lipstick. Couldn't find it anywhere. Rob and I searched the suite and then searched it again. (Which took forever because the place was, you know, bigger than our house.) Lipstick was nowhere to be found. At this point I was past the frantic phase and well into the pissed off phase, and so I stomped up the stairs saying, "DAMMIT. Where the fuck is my goddamn LIPSTICK?!" And I heard something drop and I looked down and my lipstick was laying there on the step, next to my foot. "Rob!" I exclaimed. "It's my lipstick! It just appeared here on the step!" And then I paused a moment to consider this and added, "It's the butler! It has to be! Where is he? How'd he do that? That guy is amazing!" (Okay, so shortly thereafter I determined that the tube of lipstick had fallen out of the cuff of my pants. But still, I have every reason to believe that the butler had a hand in its timely reappearance.) [end side story in the style of mrtl]

So, you see how ridiculous this place was? And by ridiculous I mean totally fucking FANTASTIC. But in a completely ridiculous way. And all I've described is the suite. The rest of the hotel was equally incredible. Infinity pools, a helipad, an "underwater" restaurant (complete with simulated submarine ride). Certainly many of the people who were staying there were gawking posers like us. But many of the people staying there were filthy rich. F and I had a conversation about how the hotel is probably so everyday to them, that having a hotel butler is surely such an inconvenience because he doesn't anticipate their every whim like their staff at home does. Needless to say, I found the rich folks as fascinating as any other culture I encountered on this trip.

The pool bar - I ordered a milkshake made with camel's milk

But what I was reminded of, staying at this hotel, is that it's all fluff. The exquisite thread count, the marble floors, the gold pillars, the "your wish is my command" hospitality - it's nice, but it isn't necessary. Two of my favorite memories from the Burj have little to do with the hotel at all. The four of us spent our first evening there drinking wine (compliments of the hotel), telling stories, and laughing. We were at the Burj Al Arab, but we could have been in anyone's living room. It was the comfortable feel of the friendships, not the furniture, that meant so much to me that evening. And the next night, Rob and I climbed into one of the whirlpool tubs and snuggled together in the suds. He gave me a divine foot massage, and I thought about what a good life we have. Sure, we were soaking in Hermés bath salts, but it's having that love that's the luxury.

(Which is not to say I don't totally need a butler. Surely he could find my yoga mat.)