Sylvia's Journal

I moved all our belonging from one side of Dubai to another before returning to Axel’s hospital. But he wasn’t quite discharged yet and so I continued without him to my pre-surgery appointments in the competing hospital.

The architect of the American Hospital must have had a mental imagine of a hospital as a shush-shush kind of place. In sharp contrast, the architect of City Hospital had something more lively in mind. It has places to sit and interact with each other and the world, rather than the sit-quietly places and rather subdued atmosphere of the American hospital.

Now it was Axel’s turn to pick me up. We walked across the street to a very fancy mall, for the merely rich and the very wealthy where they also had a modestly priced bento box lunch place. The only redeeming part of the mall was the underground souk representing various parts of the Middle East and Arab world: Egyptian, Turkish, Moroccan, and Syrian that sold the most exquisite wares from the region. We drooled over Kashmir shawls, hand embroidered by very patient people, and didn’t even bother to ask for the price.

The mall and the restaurants were as empty as the American Hospital. This is supposed to be High Holiday time: Eid, cool evenings, and pleasant days, but where was everyone? Could it be that Dubai is no longer the place where the very wealthy congregate?

We took naps until it was time to go to the movies (Eat, Pray, Love) and then did our initial shopping for basic supplies for our remaining 9 days here. And now it is my turn to fast.