#6 - One stall in Dubai's spice souk, which you smell before you see.

The souk is a dizzying overload of the senses. It is a maze of a marketplace where merchants wave watches at you and pursue you with perfume. Each row of vendors leads to yet another row; they are all connected within the walls and wooden roof, and every turn takes you deeper into the labyrinth. You stroll past stall after stall, each stuffed with whatever wares are being sold there: fruit, fabric, jewelry, rugs, books, scarves, shoes. The goods spill from the stalls into the aisles, cluttering the already cramped walkways. Air conditioners hum amidst the haggling, their breezes providing brief pockets of cool air as you pass by. Otherwise, the air is heavy with heat and soaked with sundry scents: now frankincense, now fresh fruit, now fried food. Fabrics are stacked and hung and draped everywhere, their vivid colors popping from every corner, competing with the bright baubles for your attention. And throughout, the textures tempt you to touch. Smooth seamless scarves. Sacks of spices. Silk.

The souk we visited in Muscat (Oman) was the hub of the city. The locals go there for everything they need. And, of course, shopping at the souk is a social outing. In Dubai, there are several souks. The spice and gold souks are especially esteemed. But in Dubai, the role of the souk is shifting. The trinkets are now targeted at tourists. Locals rarely visit the souks; instead, they spend their money at shopping centers. The mall has become the modern market.

I noticed that people in Oman always discussed Dubai with a tone of disapproval. Nothing was said outright, but the Omani opinion was obvious. Only the lifeguard at our hotel in Muscat offered uncouched criticism: "In Dubai, the buildings are so tall. Here, we keep them low. Here, we plan for the future."

By all appearances, Dubai is the one investing in the future. And in terms of progress, their plans are paying off. But in Oman, there's a different sensibility. Oman is rural and sparsely populated and more traditional. They are hopeful for the future while maintaining reverence for the past. In Dubai, it seems that in planning ahead they have forgotten to look back.

In a Vanity Fair article about Dubai, Nick Tosches discusses searching for Old Town, a section of the city for which he has seen advertisements, only to be told that Old Town hasn't yet been built. Indeed, in a city that seems well on its way to having anything and everything to offer, the one noticeable neglect is its own history and heritage.

It's there if you look hard enough. The history of Dubai can be found tucked away in a secluded spot where the original foundation of the city wall is unceremoniously on display. It's (maybe) 10 feet in length, six inches tall, and is marked by a sign that, while official-looking, offers very little elaboration on the history of the city.

There is also the Dubai Museum, which does a good job preserving the past - you know, for tourists. And there are traditional dhow ships that line the river bank...offering dinner cruises for tourists.

And then there's Bastakia, the historical district which is being restored. I think it might actually be real, but it feels so faux. The restoration has left everything all shiny and new. As Rob remarked, Bastakia is like Olive Garden - it's attempting to look authentic, but it still feels like a facade. One with strategically placed cracks in the plaster and paint that's chipping off for effect.

And that's also the sense I got of Dubai. It has gone to great lengths to make itself attractive to the world, donning a veneer of glitz and glam and glitter. The former fishing village is focused on the future, eager to leave its history behind in a cloud of (construction) dust, exhuming its cultural heritage only in ways that might attract more tourists.

It almost seems Dubai has sold its soul for the sake of progress. Which reminds me: I never heard adhan while I was there. The sounds of the city drown out the traditional call to prayer. And the souks give way to malls and the buildings climb higher in the sky... and such is progress.

#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.)

#4 - Wahiba Sands

I don't describe landscapes. It's not my thing. In fact, when I read novels I always skim right over descriptions of landscapes because they bore me. But at this moment, I'm wishing I were the type to paint a landscape with words, because in the Middle East I saw some landscapes worth painting. And I could do it, if I really tried, but my prose still wouldn't even begin to portray the magnitude, the beauty, the starkness of the landscapes I saw. So for this post I'm going to let The Miraculous D-Fiddy do most of the talking.

I will say that what was so enchanting about Oman was the variety of landscapes it contains. We drove miles and miles of flat, uninspired wide open space on our way to Jebel Akhdar (Green Mountain), where we stood at an elevation of over 2000 meters - over a mile high in the sky. I have never seen terrain like that of Jebel Akhdar - rugged, barren (despite the name), and cut with canyons. Breathtaking. And then, perhaps 100 miles away, were the Wahiba Sands. Red sand dunes rising and falling, as far as one can see, like waves in the ocean. And then, just an hour's drive from the sands, is a canyon with a deep stream that slices through. While swimming in the wadi, I marveled how just that morning I'd been standing in the desert.

Before the trip, I'd read several sources that described the heat this time of year as "oppressive", but it was not as prohibitive as I'd expected. Perhaps this is simply because we lucked out. According to the hotel lifeguard, the week we were in Oman was uncharacteristically cool. That means it was 105 instead of 115. When stepping outside, it wasn't the heat that hit us like a wall - it was the humidity. Our shirts were damp even before the sweat could begin to soak through. The sky was usually overcast and the days were hazy. The only side effect I had from the sun was freckles. By the second day on the trip, my nose was covered in them. This has never happened before, no matter how much time I spend in the sun. They're finally starting to fade now, which is unfortunate because the freckles? They are freaking adorable.

Click for more photos of Oman.

The city of Dubai. Instead of endless sand dunes of varying heights, there are endless cranes at varying heights. Instead of rocky peaks looming large, there are towers rising high in the sky. The landscape of Dubai is construction and big dreams. There are billboards, everywhere, in empty plots of land that advertise what will soon be built there. It is a modern city, and so there are many buildings. But there are even more buildings-to-be, such that at times I felt that I was driving through a ghost town, except in opposite - rather than having just been abandoned, the place is about to explode with life.

Dubai was extremely hazy, partly due to the time of year and certainly partly due to the incessant nonstop building of buildings. An otherwise clean city, Dubai was covered in construction dust. It coated the cars and made new buildings (they are all new buildings) appear as if, for centuries, they'd absorbed the urban grit and grime.

In Dubai, the center of gravity seems to be constantly shifting. There is a visible struggle to claim certain parts of the city as Downtown. There is no definable downtown, yet, and so that honor is up for grabs. One real estate billboard proclaimed that "Life is moving downtown - don't be left behind." "Downtown", in this case, is wherever that building complex is being built. The fear of being left behind is palpable, and the spirit of one-upmanship is nowhere stronger than in Dubai.

And thus, when I think of the landscape of Dubai, it's the grandiose scale of things that immediately comes to mind. Every new project is bigger and taller than the last. The sky isn't the limit - the only limit is one's imagination.

Indoor ski slope at Mall of the Emirates

I didn't get to add Dubai to my collection of city metro rides because the metro is just now being built. And for me, that is the appeal of Dubai. I was there at a critical, and historical, moment in the lifespan of the city. I'm eager to see what Dubai becomes in the next few decades. Its irrational exuberance will either cause the city to fall on its face or the city's wildest dreams will come true. Either way, it will be a place unrecognizable.

#3 - Creepy crab

It seems that, in the part of the Middle East we visited, the biggest hazard to one's health is driving. Or rather, being driven. And I'm not even talking daredevil dunebashing. I'm talking driving down the freaking highway in Oman. It is the longest straightest most boringest (sic) (the sic is for Nilbo) highway EVER. So much so that all the cars in Oman have been installed with a device that begins beeping when the speedometer goes past 120 km because, according to our guide, people fall asleep all the time driving on this road and should they lean into the accelerator, hopefully the beeping will awaken them before they crash, in a fiery blaze, at the side of the road.

So yeah. That's the highway we hired a taxi to drive us on for more than four hours. You know, in the middle of the night.

Of the five people in the vehicle during this trip, I was the only one who was wide awake. And the five people includes the driver. The three guys I was traveling with - Rob, Mr. Mojo, and Mojo's friend F, all fell asleep more or less immediately. I'd been plane-traveling for the previous 24 hours, but somehow I wasn't sleepy. At first, this was just because I was excited to have finally arrived and be starting the trip. Soon, though, my alertness was due to sheer terror.

The driver kept nodding off. Like, continuously. I was sitting in the middle of the backseat and I could see his eyes in the rearview mirror. The first time he stopped for a break, I mentioned his sleepiness to the other guys. I thought they'd be as alarmed by this as I was, but as soon as we were back in the car, they all went right back to sleep. Right back to sleep! They knew there was the possibility that they might be driven to their deaths and still they slept! You have to be really fucking tired to think, "I would rather sleep for the next five minutes than live for the next 50 years. I am so exhausted that, honestly, I would trade my life for a quick catnap."

The car would slow down as the driver nodded off and then speed back up when he jerked himself awake. I didn't know what to do because we still had a couple hours left to go - we needed him to keep driving so we could get there. So I just watched him (and the road) vigilantly. And through it all, the boys slept. They would wake from time to time, check to see that we were still on the road and, seeming satisfied with that, they'd drop their heads and snooze some more. The car's speedometer was beeping more or less incessantly - sounded just like an alarm clock - but even that didn't disturb their slumber. Fuckers.

At one point the driver actually bent completely over in his seat, asleep. I said something to him and shook his shoulder to rouse him. After that, I made Rob promise to stay awake with me. Which he did. The driver took a break soon afterwards, and at that point we were getting close enough to our destination that everyone managed to stay awake for the rest of the ride.

Al Bustan Palace Hotel

I have never been so relieved to arrive anywhere, ever. The hotel was really nice, but it was particularly beautiful to me at that moment because I was so goddamn glad to be alive. They actually let us check into our rooms early (as in 3am when the official check-in time was noon!). We showered and rested in our rooms for awhile and then moseyed down to the beach to see the sunrise. The hotel grounds were lush with flowers and palm trees, and hammocks and chairs with palm umbrellas were scattered throughout and the place just made me so happy and did I mention I was so goddamn glad to be alive? The water was warm, and I swam a little bit in the Gulf of Oman as the sun came up. You know, to celebrate being alive.

Then we discovered the breakfast buffet! Manna from heaven, y'all. There was fruit and pastries and an entire separate room of bread and also a chef who made waffles and any kind of eggs and all the bacon I wanted! (And Frosted Flakes! Which I love. As does Mr. Mojo's friend, F. Who just so happens to be my food soul mate. The F is for Frosted Flakes. And, you know, also his first name.)

So what the hell does the photo of the crab have to do with any of this, you're wondering. Well, it seems there are dangers even in paradise. That first morning, Rob and I were walking along the beach right after the sunrise and these crabs began crawling out of holes in the sand and skittering full speed toward the water. They might have been super-cute if they hadn't been so creepy-crawly with pincers and all. The next day I discovered a hidden cove with a private beach and I brought Rob there to snorkel and whatnot. The whatnot never got underway, though, because the creepy crustaceans began to emerge - with just their beady little eyes sticking out of the sand - and freaked me the fuck out.

Actually, the snorkeling wasn't meant to be either. While in the water, I got stung by a jellyfish. That was a lifetime first! It felt like a piece of seaweed had gotten wrapped around my arm, except that it stung. I had tiny welts all around my bicep, in what I thought was a rather lovely wispy design. I was quite proud of it.

And then the next day, while in the mountains, I got stung by a wasp. On my temple. That sting hurt way hella worse than the jellyfish. It throbbed for hours and gave me a bitch of a headache, but I survived. (Without even whining! No really, ask Rob! He said I was totally tough.)

So the creatures of the Middle East were not particularly welcoming. But there was one exquisite exception. Our first evening in Oman, we went on a boat tour. And we happened upon a school of bottlenose dolphins. Actually, I think it was a superpod or, as I called it, "a whole fucking FLOCK!" There were probably 50 total, in small groups of 10-12. It was incredible. Even the fishermen in the area circled around in their boats and we all watched the dolphins in reverence. They were riding the crests and a few were jumping out of the water and everywhere we looked were dolphins. It was the warmest welcome I have ever received.

#2 - Chandelier in Sultan Qaboos Grand Mosque in Muscat, Oman

We were standing on a rock ledge looking down at the village in the valley below, examining life in miniature: an occasional car driving down the road, two boys playing outside, three men sitting together on a mat on the rooftop.

Earlier, Mr. Mojo had wondered aloud why we hadn't yet heard a call to prayer after being in Oman for over a day. Now, as we all watched the village, a male voice, a chant, broke the silence.

"Ah," Mojo and I sighed simultaneously.

The song lifted from the mosque to the sky, surrounding us. And I was surprised to find that, in the first few moments, its unfamiliarity frightened me. It was urgent and haunting and, to my uncomprehending ears, it could have been a battle cry. Or a wail of mourning.

But I knew it was a call to prayer. And as the sound filled the open space, I closed my eyes so it could fill me, too.

#1 - D-Fiddy's shattered filter

Last Tuesday we were in the Wahiba Sands of Oman. This is where I rode the camel. This is also where we went dune bashing, which is when you drive a 4x4 up and over and around the sand dunes. (We weren't driving - we had a guide.) Being driven straight down a sand dune is scary as shit - but also totally awesome. Dune bashing is the best roller coaster ride ever.

Sadly, the dunes weren't all that got bashed. Our driver went down a dune that was deeper and steeper than he expected. The vehicle basically hit the bottom face first and we stopped HARD. We're lucky we didn't flip. The vehicle sustained some damage around the wheel well and I had a huge swollen bruise right below my knee. But D-Fiddy suffered the most from the impact.

During the ride, D-Fiddy was resting in Rob's lap. When the vehicle stopped suddenly, we all went flying forward and the force rammed D-Fiddy against the seat (or something) in front of Rob. Later, after we had gotten out of the vehicle, we took the lens cap off D-Fiddy and shards of glass fell out. SHARDS OF GLASS. From D-Fiddy!

Fortunately, the broken glass was just from the UV filter we'd attached to the front of the lens and not from the lens itself. But there was a mark on the lens that appeared to be a place where a shard of the filter had scratched. (A scratch on the actual lens is very NOT good.) We rubbed it, hoping it was just a smudge, but it wouldn't fade and we could see a mar showing up in the photos.

But then, a day later, the mark on the lens disappeared. We have no idea how. Perhaps the spot was just a smudge after all. Or perhaps the disappearance of the blemish was due to the healing powers of humidity, which fogged up the lens on a regular basis. But it felt like a miracle, and that's what I think it was.

(Go home today and hug your cameras close. Tell them how much you love them. And next time you take one for a ride in the car, BUCKLE IT IN.)

Below are six photos from our trip. Each of them represents a story or some element of our experience. I'll tell the tale for each, but first I thought I'd give you a chance to guess what they are.

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