My Dubai trip ended up being a reunion with all sorts of people, mostly people with whom I share my surname, some of which happened to be on honeymoon in Dubai – why would anyone want to have a honeymoon is beyond me but there we go (if you’re reading this, which I know you don’t, I’d appreciate an answer) and some very good friends from London. I spent my last two days with said friends catching up and exploring, giggling like little girls basically.
We got shown around by an Emirati the first day and went on a very long drive out to Sharjah, one of the seven emirates. Sharjah is quite smaller and definitely less wealthy than Dubai or Abu Dhabi. Since we were getting driven around, we weren’t quite as free to explore the city as we wanted, and were stopped at some places for just a photo opportunity. It was however quite nice to just sit back, have girly talks and just enjoy the drive.
After indulging into the touristic ‘attractions’ that Dubai offered and getting wow-ed mostly by what ridiculous shit people with money come up with everything, my cousin thought it would be good to bring us back to earth by taking us to what we nicknamed as the ‘slums of Dubai’. We took the metro to Deira, one of the neighbourhoods where the expats, a.k.a. the cheap labour behind the phenomenal growth of the city, call home.
For the actual birthday bash, we ended up booking a dinner cruise on the Marina for the spoiled kid who definitely took us on word that we’ll pay everything for him on that day; I think someone is definitely regretting some shopping trip.
Tales of a Mauritian 