Our guide Sujan, a practical Buddhist from Sri Lanka, begins every third sentence with the words: "You won't believe…." And he's right. There is so much about Dubai that you simply can't wrap your head around. It is a land of superlatives, contradictions and moist hand towels.

My burgeoning relationship with both hot and cool hand towels — representing all that is great and quirky about Emirati hospitality — began as soon as I stepped foot on my Dubai-bound flight.

"Ms Kendal, would you like a hand towel?" asks the immaculately-groomed Emirates air hostess.

"Uh… yes, please," said I, attempting, without much success, to look poised and wealthy in the spacious business-class seat. Neatly rolled cloth. Tongs. Ah… ouch! Too hot.

A small interjection: the problem with the gift of a hand towel is that, having wiped your hands and dabbed your neck/face, you are stuck holding a rapidly cooling damp cloth.

Luckily the service on board Emirates is pretty efficient and it isn’t long before my soggy serviette is replaced by a cool glass of champagne. I sip my champagne and stare guiltily at my reflection in the television screen (easily the size of my set at home) under the resentful glare of those shuffling to the somewhat less-spacious back of the plane.

But guilt, it would seem, is one of the many things that can be wiped away with a warm, sweetly-scented hand towel. By the time we take off, I am gripped by a pressing need to become rich. Very rich.

For how can I ever fly again if I don't have a seat which reclines all the way into a bed and offers a variety of massage options? How can I eat aeroplane food if it doesn't come with a menu (complete with appetizers, desserts and a cheese selection) and a comprehensive wine list? And how could I possibly enjoy the latest movies on one of those pokey little screens?

Ah yes, you see, the corruption has already set in. Before I even encounter its intimidating white-robed custom officials, Dubai is tantalising and teasing me with its lavish, unreal, materialism.

Big, bigger, biggest

As we fly into Dubai, the early morning sun reflects off glimmering skyscrapers, which rise up out of the desert like shimmering space-age sentinels. It takes me a few moments to realize that the rows and rows of earth-coloured 'houses' are actually eight or nine-storey complexes, dwarfed by Dubai's monstrous skyscrapers — testaments to the sheer bravado of modern architecture.

As it turns out, there is very little in Dubai that doesn't stretch at least a few storeys into the sky. By the time we finish our whirlwind three-day tour, I have seen the tallest building in the world (Burj Dubai: 818m), the biggest shopping mall (Dubai Mall: 1200 stores), and the world's second tallest dedicated hotel (Burj Al Arab: 321m). Not to mention a huge manmade island in the shape of a palm tree.

It is hard to imagine that a mere forty years ago, almost nothing of this manic metropolis even existed. Sujan tells us that in the 1960s, before the oil boom, there were 13 cars in Dubai. The museum, housed in the old Al Fahidi Fort, sets the scene (quite literally) of life in Dubai in the 1950s: simple and unchanged for centuries.

Now, the six-lane highways are packed with luxury SUVs and the government is busy erecting an impressive sky-rail, spanning the length of the city, to deal with congestion problems. The number of buildings in the busy skyline is rivalled only by the number of cranes.

Like the ever-shifting desert landscape, the landscape of Dubai is ever-changing. Old buildings are demolished, new buildings take their place; roads and creeks expand and multiply to accommodate the new buildings and people; and islands rise up out of the sea. And it all happens so very quickly — like a film stuck forever on fast-forward.

Despite the global economic crisis — and tales of mass desertion and stagnation in the emirate — Dubai continues to feed and feed off commercialism.

Enormous malls throng with people driven by the insatiable need to consume ̵ that Gucci handbag, those cute Jimmy Choo shoes, and that Armani suit. Well-heeled tourists spill out of plush hotel elevators onto poolside deckchairs to sip cocktails and forget reality. And attentive hotel staff — recruited from around the world with the promise of riches — make the illusion real.

Sometimes more is more

Perhaps it is because Dubai expanded so rapidly; too rapidly to define itself and establish a prevailing culture. Perhaps it is because 80 percent of the emirate's 1.7 million people don't call Dubai home. Perhaps it is because the city is trying to be too many things to too many different people. Whatever the reason, Dubai is riddled with contradictions.

Alongside the luxury SUVs are busloads of tired, expressionless construction workers. Migrant workers that make it possible for buildings like the iconic Burj Al Arab — with all its decadent extravagance — to go up in a mere three years.

The city that is home to the world's biggest shopping mall — modern, sterile and filled with designer labels — is also home to the warren-like spice and gold souqs. Markets where potential customers are lured into tiny shops with small gifts; shelves are stacked with everything from snake oil hair remedies and saffron to fake ipods; and prices are haggled.

Somehow, in a place where culture and religion dictates modest dress, the shamelessness of foreigners is tolerated. More than tolerated, in fact. The raunchy lingerie and skimpy dresses that fill the racks in shopping malls are strangely incongruous with the burqa-clad locals. Similarly, alcohol, nightclubs and other 'western' excesses are promoted in the resort areas with reckless abandon.

The sleek, simple lines of some of the city's most iconic buildings belie the gaudy interiors. While the philosophy of 'less is more' has been applied to the exteriors, 'more is more' is very clearly the approach to décor. More colour, more extravagance, more thematic elements and, when in doubt, more gold.

And yet, somehow, all of these contradictions don't seem so strange in Dubai. In fact, it may very well be the comfortable co-existence of these contradictions that makes Dubai so appealing.

Perhaps it is because it is something of a contradiction that the city exists at all. Despite its spectacular architecture, its feats of engineering, its very real material presence and its wholesale embrace of progress, I just can't shake the feeling that one day the winds will change and the stark, magnificent desert will reclaim the city.

Dubai. You won't believe…


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