Dubai

We have two days in Dubai to experience the sheer contrast against where we have been so far, in the world. The drive from Abu Dhabi is only about an hour and a half and there is barely a gap in development between the two Emirates. Abu Dhabi is stretching further and further into both the desert and the sea, with reclamation sites housing a new Guggenheim and Louvre and a NYU campus.

Entering Dubai is even more surreal. The sheer number of high rise apartment blocks begs the question “who are all the people who live in them?” The Burj Kalifa, the world’s tallest building, sticks out above all the rest and there are some very tall buildings.

We have booked a modest and cheapish (by Dubai standards) apartment-style hotel room but I admit to not really understanding quite where the centre of town is at the time of booking, as there seem to be a number of central business districts. The metro service, which predominantly transports the working class people of Dubai as opposed to the Emirati, many of whom drive luxury cars, is fantastic and takes us straight into the Dubai Mall on our first day of sightseeing. Of course the mall is the largest in the world and also houses an enormous aquarium with sharks.

And unsurprisingly, there is also this outrageous lolly store that we visit after having spent more than an hour in the largest bookstore that any of us have ever been to. We buy a tiny but expensive selection of lollies, including a packet of “warheads” which, in order to enjoy, you need to suck through a layer of the most astringent, sour tasting substance, to reach the sweet layer underneath.

Roger seems to have misunderstood my fascination with coming here, as an extension of my love for shopping. In truth, I’m just very curious to gawk at the glamorous Emirati men, floating about in their impossibly white starched robes and their surprisingly feminine white sandals and their wives in goodness knows what couture finery under their designer abayas, made by Dior, Pierre Cardin and Channel.

The Christian Louboutin shoes peeping out from beneath their robes are are dead giveaway and I’m pleased to see that many of the woman hide quite a big hairdo (like myself) under their hijab.

Maybe this kind Emirati man is buying Manolo Blahniks for his wife, or perhaps himself?? (I can say that now that I’ve safety left the country).

Roger has a similar interest in very tall, phallic buildings and we pay an exorbitant amount of money to go, as close as we can afford, to the top of the Burj Kalifa. There are another twenty-something floors above us, accessible for another $200 but it feels high enough.

I think if I lived in Dubai I would like to live in the middle of this water feature in a glamorous house. It would probably cost $10million US so I’ll stick with Grey Lynn.

At this point in the day it becomes apparent that Louie has probably eaten too may “warheads” and not enough food. Not only has he lost the outer layer of skin on the inside of his cheek, from whatever acidic contents were in the lollies, but he has also lost his sense of reason.

For all the months we have been travelling, Louie has talked obsessively about eating Burger Fuel (our local Ponsonby wholesome(ish) fast-food joint that has now gone international, particularly in the UAE for some reason). I do admit to perhaps serving up Burger Fuel too many times in our last months in NZ, particularly when we were working really hard to fix up the house and were keeping it like a show home in case someone came for a viewing. As a result, perhaps going cold turkey on the takeaways was a bit cruel, especially when Louie was sick in India and all he wanted was kumara chips and aioli.

He has been anticipating the visit to the Dubai Burger Fuel for some time and while we are trying to navigate our way through the largest mall in the world, Louie sets off alone to find the Burger Fuel. Roger and I desperately limp behind him (Roger has a long-standing foot problem and I have lumps on the balls of my feet from wearing jandals for 4 months).

Because it appears that Louie has headed off in the wrong direction, we search frantically for him for over half an hour. There seems to be no lost-and-found child service anywhere and eventually we have to trust that he will find his way to Burger Fuel.

When we arrive, there he is, standing at the counter looking at the menu.

I am really angry at this point and very tired and when he wants to explain, in great detail, the route he took to get here, I don’t want to hear about his journey, I just want him to understand how difficult it was for us to walk another 5km around a mall that we were already ready to leave.

Louie gets up and says he doesn’t want Burger Fuel anyway (and at this point you really have to admire his stubbornness) and disappears around the corner somewhere.

I am equally stubborn, so the rest of us order our food (which costs about twice as much as it does in Ponsonby). Unfortunately it’s hard to swallow when you’re angry and none of us enjoy our treat. I can feel Louie’s little angry eyes burning into the back of my head from wherever he is hiding and I try to make it look like we are enjoying our food. Perhaps this was a mistake.

We go to leave and we see Louie disappear up ahead of us. For the next half an hour we catch glimpses of him ducking behind signs and disappearing around corners. No words can quite explain the frustration and ridiculousness of this situation. At one point we grab hold of him (literally) and then he escapes again while I’m in the toilet.

People who know Louie, will perhaps be acquainted with his stubbornness and bad temper but I have never experienced anything quite like this. When we do finally catch him, I have to physically restrain him as he is biting and trying to pull away. We are so exhausted that we know we can’t chase him and he is beyond reasoning. So I drag him all the way from the mall to the metro station which is about 3 km. Luckily the floors are highly polished because he is digging his feet in and sliding along in his Birkenstocks. He wants to go home to NZ. I do too.

We stop a few times and sit down and try to reason with him and hold him really tight for a cuddle but soon we’re off again.

I decide that it’s best if everyone thinks our kid is having an autistic meltdown because I imagine this is what it would be like.

But ultimately I blame the “warheads” and a bit of bad parenting.

The next day we are leaving Dubai again and we’re all in a slightly sober mood after the emotional exhaustion of what will now be known as “the Burger Fuel incident”.

We stop at “The Palm” which is the crazy human-made Island which also houses the Atlantis Hotel. What a weird place. I miss home.