The airport is busy busy busy at 2am

Glass elevators in front of a waterfall

My first impression of Dubai is, of course, the famous airport. And it lived up to it’s reputation. I tried to capture some it with my camera, but I’m not sure it actually communicates the magnitude of it.

As I was sufficiently impressed, I was also surprised that despite the fact that it was 2am, it was humming like a nest of bees. All the shops were open, lots of flights were coming in, and people were milling around as if it was 2pm instead.

The black is the waterfall

Just when I thought I had seen it all as I descended down a rather long escalator, I heard the sound of rushing water. “There’s no way…”, I thought. But sure enough, there was a huge wall of cascading water. As if this wasn’t impressive enough, the waterfall was behind a modern shaft of elevators reminiscent of Roald Dahl’s creation in “Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator”.

By the time I got my luggage and cleared customs the glam had worn off like a child’s new toys on Christmas day. I was tired.

The baggage area

One might wonder why I landed in Dubai in the middle of the night when I had my pick of flights. I was originally supposed to fly out and land 12 hours later, but it was all changed due to the India VISA I am determined to get. The consulate opens for the week at 8am on Saturday morning. Apparently there can be line ups, and they only take applications until 10am. I am determined to be the first person in line.

Customs

So I loiter in the airport for several hours (this is 20% being cheap and 80% being realistic. I have long since learned that  getting from point A to B in new territories and large cities can be an arduous task. Finding the hostel and checking in could take an hour. Add another hour to get from there to the Indian embassy. This leaves only about 2 hours to sleep. Not worth it.)

There really are lots of palm trees in the airport

At 7am I figure out the public bus I need to take, show the driver my map of where I am going, and ask him nicely to tell me when to get off. I double check my paperwork. Map to embassy. Check. New passport pictures. Check. Copies of passport. Check. VISA application. Check. Im ready for this and I’m optimistic.

The driver tells me the ride will be 25 minutes or so. It feels like only 25 seconds when he rustles me awake. I had fallen fast asleep on my backpack.

I consult my map and stagger around the area with my heavy backpack, perplexed that everything seems to be so quiet and nothing seems to be open. For 45 minutes I wander around. I am sure I have the right location, but there’s not a car in the parking lot and there are iron gates keeping me out.

I finally see someone to ask and he tells me it’s a huge national holiday, the Arab equivalent of Christmas. “When will it be open?” I ask in desperation.

“Probably not for a few days. Most places are closed for several days.”

I am sucker punched with disappointment. I realize that due to time constraints (the India VISA takes at least 7 days to process) India won’t be happening.

It’s a bitter pill for me to swallow. It was the number one place I wanted to go to. I shortened time in several countries to maximize my time in India. I’ve wanted to go for years. Plus, I feel stupid. I checked VISA requirements with the religious discipline of a monk for all the other countries multiple times. I can’t fathom why I didn’t for India. It borders on peculiar. I’m a traveller. I know these things.

I believe everything happens for a reason so I just have to believe that I wasn’t meant to go. Now I have to make some decisions.

And I’m lost to boot.

I finally resort to an over priced cab (I am determined not to let over priced Dubai get the best of me) and he brings me to a dilapidated part of town to a huge hostel that looks more like a hospital. I find out after that it’s government run and controlled. It’s the only hostel in Dubai as a result. It’s sterile and feels more like a prison. It’s $30CAD a night for a bed in a dorm and WIFI is extra.

The guy at the front is difficult to understand and he gets annoyed when I can’t understand him. It’s only 10am but he says check in is at 2pm. He tells me with a wink that if I come back at noon he’ll let me in the room. I can’t argue with him or do much about it due to the language barrier and decide to just be grateful for the 2 hour leeway.

I don’t last 2 hours. For 45 minutes I stagger around what is obviously a beat up part of Dubai (where are the skyscrapers!? Where are the shopping malls!? Where are all the expats?!) It’s hot hot hot and I don’t have sunscreen on but I am tired and don’t care. Like a homeless person, I find a bench to stretch out on and sleep in the hot sun, oblivious to the world.

The rest of the day isn’t much better. I realize I’m far from the cool places, my hostel is weird and there’s no other girls in the room. I’m tired and I can’t go to India. Normally I get on Skype to make a few calls to friends and family when I’m feeling overwhelmed on my own, but I realized that I can’t Skype anyone because the UAE government has blocked VOIP.  And I have no idea how to change my flights either without Skype to call American Airlines.

Long story short, I catch my sister online and she calls the airline pretending to me. She books a flight Manila, Philappines in 48 hours because it’s the last available flight for a week. This means my time in Dubai is cut short and I have already wasted a precious day.

We all have our bad days. A bad day all alone in the Middle East just seems a little worse than a bad day back home.

But that’s okay, I tell myself as I I go to bed at 9pm and set my alarm for 6:30am, determined to make the most of the next couple days. The great thing about a bad day is that the next day can only be better.