Dubai 02 - Driving

You know, I think hazard lights go by a different name here. Not sure what, exactly, but it could be any of:

• Parking lights (watch out, I’m reverse parking, this could be dangerous)
• Waiting lights (watch out, I’m double parked waiting for someone. I could do anything, this could be dangerous)
• Going slowly lights (watch out, I’m travelling at or below the speed limit, this could be dangerous)
• Going fast lights (watch out, I’m travelling above the speed limit, and you’re in the damned way, this could be dangerous)
• Indicators (watch out, I’m thinking about changing lanes or turning a corner, or maybe I’ll keep going straight, who knows? This could be dangerous)

Which segues nicely to the next observation: very few people seem to understand indicators here. Hardly anyone understands headlights (I can see where I’m going, so I don’t really need them) and, by all accounts, no one understands driving in the rain (omigod, there’s a puddle, better swerve wildly to avoid it, but I’ll still go really fast on this slicked up road that’s been accumulating oily residues for 10 months).

As for sharing the road with others, cutting in is an art form here. Let’s say you’re a car length behind a car in the slow lane and you’re closing in. Local thrill seekers will undertake you and then cut in, missing the slow car by millimetres and relying on you to ease off to avoid a major accident.

So basically, apart from the hazard lights, this is a city of Commodore drivers.

***

And speaking of cars, one of the satellite channels here is playing re-runs of Knight Rider. You know, I never realised how … un-macho that show was. And I’m not talking about David Hasselhoff – sure, we’ve all seen the photos of The Hoff in the buff cuddling puppies, The Hoff in the rain tearing off his frilly shirt, or The Hoff in a bubble bath wearing a cowboy hat – oh no, he was The Man in the show. I’m not even talking about his boss, Devon. He proved his blokey credentials despite his effeminate English accent by lovin’-from-beyond-the-grave in The Ghost and Mrs Muir.

Oh no, I mean the car itself, Kitt.

It’s a 1982 Pontiac Trans Am with a steering wheel straight out of a commercial airliner and a dashboard to match. It’s sleek and black. Everything about it looks boss. It looks like it should have a throaty roar from a V8 engine with no muffler. Instead, it whirrs. It sounds like a hover-car from Star Wars. My vacuum cleaner makes a better noise than that thing. It just screams golf cart with after-sales trans am panels.

And then it speaks. “Ooh, Michael, should we drive around and scare those nasty looking villains in their tight T-shirts, or shall we go and get a latte?” It should be more like: “YO! Get that damned perm in the car and lets RIDE, MUTHA-F*CKA! Let’s kick some A-S-S!” I reckon the producers were going for an accent that suggested refined sophistication: a fine wine and classical music sort of voice. Instead, it's shandy and Rick Astley.

Dubai 01

23/7/2006

Three months ago I didn’t expect I’d be spending the Friday afternoon before last relaxing in the pool of the Radisson SAS hotel in Muscat, Oman. Yep, to quote Ferris: Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in awhile, you could miss it.

For anyone who’s missed the news, I’ve taken a job in Dubai. I was planning to stick around at my last firm, really I was, but when someone phones you up and gives you a chance to work on world class buildings in the world’s biggest boom town for several times your current salary and asks that you can help make the planet’s least sustainable city a little more so, it’s hard to say no. And so, seven weeks after my phone rang, I rocked up to work in 40°C heat and got to it. My very first project is of a scale that you wouldn’t even dream of in Australia. But it’s confidential, so I can’t tell you about it.

And six days later I was in Oman helping out on projects there, too.

Anyway, the Middle East, this part of it at least, is crazy. (Other parts are crazy, too, but in a different way.) The world’s tallest building is going up down the road. Taipei 101 (current record holder, I believe) is so big it’s increasing earthquake activity in that city. The Burj Dubai is going to be bigger. Europe has a crane shortage because of this town (the machines, not the birds. I don’t know how Europe’s avian crane population is going, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they all came here too). It’s the building concepts that make this place nuts, though. Integrated wind turbines, no straight lines, buildings so skinny you wonder how the lifts can fit in, that sort of thing. But I’ll not bore you with shop talk.

Dubai seems to have taken the bits it likes from other places all over the world and combined them into a unique experience. So, cheap labour from India and the Philippines, skilled labour from the UK, the Antipodes, and the occasional European, driving skills from the Melbourne School of Taxi Driving, cars from Japan, Germany (and even Australia), and, my favourite, electrical appliance plugs from Europe (ie, two round pins) but electrical sockets from the UK (3 square pins).

I’m staying in a (company provided) serviced apartment at the moment which reminds me a little of some places I’ve stayed in China (and Sydney’s north shore), only the guys who clean it do a much better job: the bed has good hospital corners, the extract fans are always left on to suck out the cool air, the AC is turned down to compensate, and they even turn on the vacuum cleaner when I’m there so I think they’re vacuuming. It also comes with a one-size-fits-all saucepan (12”, perfect for boiling an egg), a blunt knife (for cooking safely), a dinner set for four and two glasses (for entertaining people who aren’t very thirsty). There’s even a gym and a pool, and it’s close to work, so all up, it’ll do just fine until I find somewhere better.

Finally, I thought I’d better dispel a few myths before signing off:

• It’s not that hot. 42° today, but not very humid, so it’s probably more comfortable than Brisbane in summer. And the AC is so fierce I often need to step out just to thaw out.
• There are no anti-women rules like in Saudi (well, there might be some, but they’re obscure if there are). Women can drive, walk around unaccompanied, and they don’t need to wear veils.
• It is not illegal to drink alcohol.
• Nearly everyone speaks English (or a heavily accented dialect thereof).

Right, that’s it. Nothing really to report on the sights and sounds around town: it’s too hot to go sightseeing on weekends, and a mall is a mall is a mall (unless it has a ski slope in it, which The Mall Of The Emirates does). (Besides, this place was little more than a hamlet 30 years ago, it’s not like it has any history.)