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.

As medical tourists we are exquisitely taken care of by Caroline and her colleague Asia from SOS International. We are one of their projects for this and next week but you’d think we are their only project. They schedule our appointments, tell us about the procedures, what to expect, not to do.

For years I have carried the SOS International card with me and MSH paid its fees. I never had to use it. Now I am learning what they are really about, service, awesome service.

Today was the one day this week that we did not have any medical appointments and so we set out to explore more of the city and its thin history.

We took the spotless metro into town enjoying the high ride across what is called refrigerator alley – the Sheik Zayed multi-laned highway that goes from Dubai to Abu Dhabi and that is lined with the weirdest looking skyscrapers.

We picked up the Red Bus at one of the shopping centers that make you think you are in New York and descended at the restored Maktoub palace at the edge of the Creek.

The before and after pictures reminded me of the Murad Khani restorations in Kabul – here someone also saw beauty in what was utterly decayed. The spectacularly restored palace with its summer and winter rooms, its wind towers for natural airco was filled with pictures of the olden days.

Old is not very old here – going back at most two generations. In fact, some pictures were from the 70s when I was in Yemen. The Dubai from then was very much like North Yemen in the 70s. The transformation that happened here is phenomenal (whether you approve or disapprove) and it left me wondering, what happened here and what did not happen in Yemen?

We are starting to ask taxi drivers that question. The answers are very consistent: leadership, or maybe more specifically, enlightened leadership; leadership without greed or coming from a small ego, insecurity, a bully complex or what not. It appears to be leadership from someone with wealth, status and the weight of a power dynasty behind him; no need for games.

I noticed that females were entirely missing from the pictures – except for the room that was called ‘socio-cultural.’ It contained young girls dressed up to the nines after the celebration of their graduation from Quran school. All the others contained only pictures of the ruling elite, from young eager boys handling their falcons to old wizened rulers with their hands on their djambiyas, the crooked dagger that they carry right below their bellies, just as in Yemen.

Axel and I went apartment hunting. The day after his operation, and the day before mine, our current apartment lease ends and we need a new place to stay. We walked round Bur Dubai looking for short stay apartment rentals. Young Philippina or Pakistani clerks, eager to sign us on, showed us around.

We are staying in tonight, having food brought up (Peking Duck, seafood noodles), and watch a movie that Tessa sent along with Anne and Chuck in a care package. But when Anne and I came back up from the apartment complex’ sauna and jacuzzi we went straight to bed. Only the men watched the film. Today was vacation. Tomorrow we are on sick leave.

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Last night we had a late and outrageously expensive dinner (mostly because of the wheat- and grape-based beverages but also because the restaurant’s location) at the Dubai Mall overlooking the famous dancing fountains. The mall closed at midnight and was still full of small children who appeared more awake than we were.

This morning was my day of medical tourism. We took a taxi to a part of Dubai that is called Dubai Health Care City. The place is chock-a-bloc hospitals, specialized clinics, group practices and pharmacies. My appointment was in building 55, which made me wonder whether there were at least 54 other buildings.

I was swiftly diagnosed by Dr. Ali, a young surgeon from Pakistan (I think) who trained in Toronto and at Brigham and Women’s in Boston. He has scheduled me for carpal tunnel surgery on the 11th. He also ordered an X-Ray (done) and an MRI (Monday) to find out what is wrong with my painful knee. If there is something to be fixed in the knee he will do it right after the carpal tunnel surgery on Thursday. And so, this medical visit to Dubai is as much mine as it is Axel’s.

My new orthopod works in a medical group practice that made me reflect on care in Afghanistan. This place has everything Afghanistan doesn’t have: for starters, a large number of well educated nurses. All of them have been trained by the government of The Philippines, after which they left for greener pastures. The education of nurses has thus become a significant subsidy by the Philippine government to the UAE. It really should be the other way around.

And then of course there is the infrastructure of this place – uninterrupted water, electricity, salaries paid on time, internet at lightspeed, integrated machines that check your temperature, blood pressure and god knows what else with one push of a button. All the while I am thinking, why? Is this only about money or is there something else?

After our doctor’s visit we played tourists. We took a bus tour, a dhow trip along the creek and then a meal at one of my favorite restaurants with its cantilevered deck overlooking the Creek.

Returning at our apartment complex I marveled how we could just walk in from the street. No sandbags, no razor wire, no sign that says ‘No Guns,’ no metal detector. Things used to be like that in most places of the world – now this may be the only place left where the assumption of innocence and goodwill is assumed and trusted.

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I am back in fantasy land. After a very fast and smooth exit from Afghanistan and similarly fast and smooth entry into the UAE (even though ‘the systems were down’), I found Axel in shorts and T-shirt waiting for me at the foot of the Dubai Marina Heights Tower. We are lodged at the 33rd floor in a ‘vacation-rental-by-owner’ apartment, together with our friends Chuck and Anne.

The apartment complex is surrounded by others, each with their own peculiar architectural markings, a spa and sport complex at the 5th floor, inside, and two pools (wading and lap) on the outside. I felt very exposed in my very decent black bathing suit that was quite a contrast to the barely clad young women sunning themselves in on lounges.

Across the marina is a half-completed skyscraper that looks like the crooked house of the crooked woman on crooked lane. We are deeply into fantasy land, or, as someone explained it, architectural practicum 101.

We were invited to join our friends at a birthday party for Chuck’s sister in law who lives here with her husband/his brother at the top of the rotating Hyatt Regency. In about one hour our views had circled the city and we were back where we started except for our full, very full, bellies. I usually don’t go for seconds but the buffet was too elaborate to limit to a single visit.

Everyone is taking a nap now, recovering from lunch. It is dark and Dubai and Sharjah are flickering near and far. When the temperature falls below 25 everyone comes out and celebrates the good life. I suspect that it is here that the taste for money, a lot of money, is acquired because there is much to spend it on and there is never enough. I wonder how much of the real estate we are seeing is owned by Afghan warlords and poppy growers, and how much of that are my tax dollars at work.