THE FASTER LANE / TYLER BRÛLÉ
On the up
The Faster Lane cranked it up a gear this past week by covering more kilometres, at higher altitudes, than any period since March last year. Along the way this columnist experienced an emirate through a whole new lens, met exotic people and heard tales that suggested that the world is most definitely being reordered. Our mini grand tour starts at Zürich airport, midday, Monday.
Homecoming. I’m really not a fan of hotel managers that say “welcome home” when you’ve not spent much time at their property and, in some instances, you’re not particularly fond of their hotel but they have you captive as they’re the only game in town. The hearty, homey welcome from the Swiss maître de cabine just past noon was much more fitting. “Where have you been? We’ve been missing you,” said the jolly woman with a laugh. “I was very happy to see your name on the list when we did our pre-flight briefing and we’re all thrilled to have full flights again with super-regulars returning.” In an era when a lot of customer interaction can sound forced and phoney, this was anything but. My return to my favourite seat, in my favourite cabin, on a Swiss A340, really did feel like a homecoming and while the five-hour-50-minute flight wasn’t the longest of hauls it was the perfect tone-setter for moving beyond the frontiers of Europe.
The opposite of easy. I didn’t really eat on the flight so on check-in I’m feeling peckish. “Where do you suggest at this hour [circa 23.00 Dubai time] for a quiet glass of wine and club sandwich or similar?” I ask the duty manager. “I’ll book a table for you in the bar upstairs. They’ll look after you,” says the smooth and swarthy duty manager. I agree to meet my colleague on the upper levels in 15 minutes and head to my room. As agreed, I exit the lift right on time and I’m blown over by the sounds, scents and sights. Reminder: it’s a Monday night. A large man from sub-Saharan Africa is controlling the door; a young gent in a sharp suit walks me over to the table. In the neighbouring lift young women with super-heels, deep tans and brief dresses are checking make-up and messages as they make their entrance and in the corner of the bar a young woman, perhaps Thai, is playing DJ. All around are tables of 10-12 men and women chattering, drinking and scoping out the room. My colleague joins me, wide-eyed and bewildered. “Wow,” she says. “Wow!!!” I say. There’s a lot to absorb, no club sandwiches but the Asian bites are superb and the wine also works. Where are we? Dubai? Or Hong Kong in ‘95? It’s far from quiet but I like it.
In the field. It’s almost bedtime but there’s too much to watch on the drive-in-sized screen in my jumbo suite overlooking the city. I’m switching between various Arabic news channels that are swapping between various correspondents and contributors in Amman, Beirut, Washington, Istanbul and beyond. Everything is sharp and fast and measured. While I don’t speak Arabic, I like what I'm seeing. But why? As I’m about to nod off it hits me. No experts or analysts contributing from their sofas, desks or kitchen tables. After 18 months of too much nose-hair, plastic cacti and anaemic bookshelves from lazy western TV networks, what a relief to watch news channels with a sense of proper presentation.
Fine lines. It’s quite late at Dubai Mall and I’ve found a place to get a shave. The barber joint is packed with men getting haircuts, having pedicures, sharpening the arches of their eyebrows and getting beards clipped. I’m shown to a chair and the trimming, lathering and clipping starts. The barber is chatty and has dazzling eyes. “Where are you from?” I ask. “Syria, Aleppo,” he says. His name is Abboud and he hasn’t seen his family in 11 years. He is happy that he can live safely and make money in Dubai but he’d like to go home and be part of Aleppo’s recovery.
Plan B. On my last day in Dubai, I meet a friend from Beirut who’s setting up shop in the UAE. “Is it me or have things changed for the better?” I ask her. “It’s not just you or me,” she says, with a gentle laugh. “Things have really turned and it’s only been in the past year. It’s quite remarkable.”
We discuss the need, particularly when your base is Lebanon, to have a Plan B in life and she thinks a base in Dubai might just be the ticket. “I’ve been fighting the pull of this place but why? I have clients here and it works. So why the resistance?” she asks. A few minutes later she pulls out her phone and shows pics of a bungalow she’s found and talks of a “good crowd” settling in older neighbourhoods. We agree to revisit this topic when we’re due to meet in Beirut in a few weeks. She heads off to catch her flight and I order another coffee. Something’s happening here. Is Dubai coming good as the legitimate hub for everyone from Cairo to Dushanbe? Certainly feels like it. Also, if the number of French is anything to go by, maybe it is fashioning itself as a new Hong Kong. More soon.