An early start again, as we wanted to visit the Al Ain camel market.
It turned out to be quite a spectacle, with hundreds of camels of various sizes and colours in various pens. We were met as soon as we parked by a bunch of enthusiastic camel traders, who quickly coralled us along the pens, encouraging us to take photos and even trying to remove my camera from around my neck, so that they could take photos of the whole family. I was wary of letting them do so, however, and kept a firm grip on it.
We posed for pictures, touched some gigantic, fearsome-looking camels, and cooed over baby camels as we walked from pen to pen.
After about ten minutes came the shakedown. One of the men, the one who had been grabbing at our camera, suddenly demanded 50 dirhams. I should have seen it coming, of course, but I didn’t; I mistook the whole performance for ebulient hospitality.
On the other hand, I have a lot more respect for people who try to make a quick score from tourists if they’re up-front about it and a price can be agreed in advance, so I was unimpressed with the tactics employed.
I decided on the spot that a few photos with camels wasn’t worth 50 dirhams of my money, so I pulled out my wallet, handed over a 20 dirham note (± €4.20) and made it clear that I wasn’t going to haggle. To be honest, I saw the 20 dirhams more as a self-inflicted fine for being so naïve than as a payment for services rendered.
He backed off, but then the next of the traders indicated that he was ready to receive his 20 dirham note, too. Nice try, mate, but nothing doing. I shook my head and we simply walked away.
We took a few more photos and talked to a couple of traders about prices. We were told which camels were for meat and which were not. The latter category are presumably for breeding, riding or even racing.
Ever since childhood, I have recalled the cliché of the westerner who visits Arabia and is offered camels in exchange for his wife. Well, perhaps unsurprisingly, the same happened to me today. I was offered a whole batch of camels in return for Sarah, plus a sizeable lump sum of cash for Eloïse.
I made it clear, however, that Sarah is good breeding stock, and that I’m therefore hanging on to her for the time being.
With the camel market ticked off, we picked up our clean laundry, went back to the hotel, packed and checked out. We pointed the car in the direction of Abu Dhabi and sped off across the desert.
What an amazing road. Route 22 to Abu Dhabi is a six-lane motorway (three lanes in each direction) with almost no traffic. It runs in what amounts to a virtually straight line right across the desert; you could make a safe attempt at the land speed record across most of it.
This massive boulevard is lined with trees across its entire length, but not just with trees, either. No, the entire length of motorway is also illuminated by lampposts, which must make it the longest stretch of illuminated road I’ve ever come across.
As in America, cars cruise along the middle lane with little regard for what’s going on to the left or right of them, never mind behind. Dunes rise up on either side, then fade away again, only to return a few tens of kilometres further down the road.
One need never take one’s foot off the accelerator until one reaches the first set of traffic-lights on the outskirts of Abu Dhabi. We drove all the way into the city until we could go no further, then turned right along the corniche and admired the stunning skyline of the nation’s capital. It’s an impressive sight, it has to be said.
We pulled up in front of our hotel, unloaded our bags and left the car in the hands of the valet while we went inside to check in.
We’re staying in the Sheraton, which in my experience is usually a so-so hotel: perfectly comfortable, but unremarkable; a bog-standard hotel, in other words. Not so this one. The reception area is beautiful: gorgeous high ceilings, exquisite furnishings and tasteful masonry.
We were greeted with glasses of chilled apple juice to drink while we checked in. Then, it was up to a really lovely room on the fifth floor to enjoy the view of the sea from our balcony.
Sarah and I were champing at the bit to get out and explore the city, so without further ado, we had our car retrieved and then set out to inspect the Abu Dhabi Mall, which comes highly recommended as a taste of the city.
As expected, it wasn’t quite the almost surreal experience that Dubai’s Mall of the Emirates offers, but it was great fun to see the cosmopolitan spectacle of men in dishdashas, women in beautifully adorned abayas (which the Muslim women use to great effect to express their personality), western expats, Indians and people from all over the Asian subcontinent. What a fabulously diverse and international place this is, and with little sense of racial tension, too.
The modern shopping mall is really the latter-day equivalent and logical extension of the age-old souq. Here, too, as in the West, women love to shop for the latest fashions and designer brands, which they sport under their alluring abayas. Behind their veils, they press the latest model of mobile phone against their ear and catch up on the latest gossip from friends.
I have come to think about Muslims quite differently during this trip, especially the women. Like so many people, I once saw the veil as a form of oppression, but for some women, it can lead to the discovery of a type of freedom unavailable to many women in the West.
One western woman writes: “From simple hair-tie to hat, from scarf to veil until finally the full outfit. With every step, the reception was warmer and the freedom fuller. From within the veil I could see without being seen, understand what without being understood, and ogle the magnificent tribesmen without suffering inspection myself. It protected me from the sun and kept out the dust. It hid blemishes and bags. It concealed uncombed hair, a crumpled shirt or clumsy cosmetics. When I returned to London, the pressure to appear feminine, au fait and fashionable again seemed overwhelming. To my surprise, I secretly longed for those days in the veil…”
Having travelled around this part of the world for the last few weeks, I can completely understand those sentiments. Yes, for some women, the veil is a cultural obligation, but in practical terms it affords them as much freedom, if not more, than it removes.
The visit to the mall was Sarah’s idea, but, as usual, she ended up buying nothing. This time, however, I shopped until Sarah dropped at the Virgin Megastore.
An attractive Muslim girl in headscarf helped me pick out various Arabian CDs to listen to. We’ve had music blasting from the car radio throughout this trip, but I have no idea who any of the artists are. Faced with an overwhelming selection of Arabian artists, I needed some help to navigate the field.
Between her and the store DJ with whom I struck up a conversation, I was more than catered for with one fabulous CD suggestion after the other. I’d expected to buy just two or three CDs, but I eventually left the shop with no fewer than nineteen (with plenty more yet that I would have listened to, had I been alone). Sarah was grimacing with boredom by this point.
After a cup of coffee, we crossed the road and went to a small shopping centre with vendors selling goods of a more ethnic nature. We spent quite a bit of time in a Persian carpet shop and were rather shocked to discover how cheaply one can purchase a sizeable, hand-made carpet over here.
From there, we returned to the car and drove back along the corniche, stopping just before sunset at the Family Park, where children were flying kites and playing on the best set of climbing frames, swings and roundabouts either Sarah or I have ever seen.
As the sun went down, the place really came to life.
Parents and children here seem to keep different hours. Whereas a European park would be desserted by 19:00, this park was now buzzing with life, as children ran and jumped in every direction, whilst their parents, mostly the mothers and their female friends, sat on large mats on the grass, eating a picnic supper and smoking wonderfully fragrant shisha in large hookahs, the scent of apple tobacco wafting through the air like an orchard.
People from every walk of life were present in the park. It was clean and unspoilt, there were no unsavoury types hanging around, and the atmosphere was joyful. Eloïse joined in with the rest and it was easy to imagine being a part of life here.
Amazingly, a cool breeze had begun to blow through the park. It’s the only cool breeze we’ve felt during our entire stay in the region.
What a great place Abu Dhabi is revealing itself to be. We’re eager to sample more of what it has to offer tomorrow, but already we’re sure we’d like to return.