Day Two
Dubai (1 of 3)
"Emirates." That single word never really meant much to me; in the cobwebs of ignorance I had the vague notion that an emirate was analogous to an American state, Canadian province or something similar--but I hadn't realized that an emirate was a political body headed by a Sheikh, nor was I aware that Dubai was not just a city, but one of seven such bodies. As I am keenly interested in law, questions on the legal logistics of how the separately-governed emirates are woven together under common laws started forming in my mind, and this is still a topic I have to consider--particularly as each emirate has rather different approaches to balance religion and law.
While this thought dances about my head for a little while, Hiromi quickly makes me shift gears: "So, what would you like to do today?"
My knee-jerk reaction: "I'd love to see the Burj."
She rolls her eyes slightly, in that way people do when they know the other person's intentionally being tough. "Which one? The Burj Al Arab or the Burj Dubai?"
"Yes," I chuckle as I wrap a handkerchief around my shaved head (the SPF50 gives me stomach cramps) and greet the morning. Hiromi raises an eyebrow at my smartass response, and before she can say anything I continue, "I'd be keen to see both." She smiles, and we drive.
As we drive along the highways, I become entranced (in that wide-eyed tourist way) by how beautiful everything is--the way the roads are set up, the way the sky has a dusty tinge against the pure blueness beyond, the row-after-rows of power lines undulating out toward the horizon, and the way everyone drives (fast-fast-go and ignoring the turn signal) make everything seem oddly reminiscent of Phoenix, AZ.
And then I see it--the shadow of a needle piercing the sky: the Burj Dubai. For a few moments I am dumbstruck by its height. Childhood memories come to mind: the first, when I gazed up, up, and up even more--craning my head back until my balance unsettles--at the foot of the World Trade Centers in NYC. The second, of me on a floor high in WTC-1, where, after having been ushered into a conference room by my father (and waiting for his meeting to finish), I ran up to the window and gazed out at the city expanding out from under my feet.
I close my eyes and imagine myself high in this Burj, gazing out at twilight as it rushes toward the horizon. Hiromi's voice interjects. "It's nice, eh?" I nod, almost unconsciously.
We curve away from that Burj to the next ("burj" simply means "tower" in Arabic). As I lower my window, I grin at Hiromi and mutter something like, "Sorry for being such a tourist," then snap a few frames--none of which turn out to be anything remarkable. I stick my hand out the window and try to grasp the balmy air, try to capture and hold it within my palm. (Which, merely for the pure sensation of it, is a favorite pastime of mine.)
Soon we arrive near the Burj Al Arab, park parallel to a beach glittering brightly with tiny diamonds, open the doors, and are greeted by a breeze known only in paradise. As Hiromi takes off her sandals and lets her toes sink into the pillows of sand, I find myself growing increasingly envious--I had only brought a pair of shoes, and I didn't wish to walk around all day with sand in my socks (soft as though it may be). I splashed my fingers around in the bathwater, gazed out at the horizon, and for the first time in a long while, feel at peace.
