FROM TEHERANGELES TO DUBAI (DUBAI DIAIRES)

A few days before Dubai was attacked, I found myself spending some time in the city on my way back from Cairo, my home for over a month while I was finishing my novel. During my time in the Egyptian capital when I was not working, I walked around, met with people, hustled through the markets, museums and mosques until my feet hurt. Then in the evenings, I would sit on the rooftop with my landlord and listen to local electronic music while I eclipsed myself in the dream of admiring the sun hiding between the pyramids, what a treat.

I sure squeezed all the possibilities the largest city in the Middle East (23.5 million) made available for me. I did not ride any camels but I visited hammans, I prayed in more than thirty mosques (just for meditation), sneaked into libraries and study rooms of all sorts, traveling through the region to study as much as possible of Egypt’s history. Occasionally attending (less than I would) local gatherings to mingle and interact with mostly expats. I found it very hard to connect with nationals, even if every day I would sit alone in the cafes —between shisha puffs seamlessly bonding with the city smoke— to write about my experience of becoming closer and closer to the Arab world. I´d say the language was a big barrier, but also the culture was not aimed to make anyone participate or lead to a non-transactional interaction between the local and foreign world.

As my Egyptian dream was coming to an end, my good Palestinian friend invited me to stop over in Dubai and stay at his place for a few days, because we were geographically close(r) and we had not seen each other for years. I flew across the Red Sea and over the Arabian Peninsula to spend some time together in his beautiful home over the canal. Behind me I left those dirty streets of sandy Giza—filled with the scented mix of camels and freshly baked baladi bread —to the sterile concrete labyrinth of the Arabian Gulf’s “Hermes belt.” I swapped the constant honking of never-ending traffic for the eventual roaring of supercars buzzing in—mostly— structured and coordinated flow. From those Egyptian homemade mosques’ calling to prayer—ringing out from every corner like a persistent spiritual cough,—to the nearly invisible presence of a few Minarets (sparrow tip towers of Dubai mosques) surfing among the …

THIS IS A SAMPLE FROM THE TRQVLING DIARIES OF DUBAI

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