I should not be enjoying this. I should not be enjoying this. I should not be enjoying this. Think about the microscopic ecosystems. Think about the destruction of flora (erm…what flora?). Think about… ah, what the hell.

Whoooooohooooooo!

"Faster, Nishaan, faster!" shouts the woman in front of me as the SUV crests the top of the dune, skids scarily on the soft sand before plummeting down the other side, the bull-bar at the front almost ploughing into the sand before our driver slams on the brakes.

Shrieks. Giggles. Cheeky taunts. More giggles. And, no doubt, a quick prayer from our unfortunate driver Nishaan that he never lands himself an SUV full of South African women again.

Dune bashing — a definite no-no in Southern Africa — is pretty big in Dubai. Just before the sun sets, and the temperature becomes bearable, convoys of SUVs stretch out across the desolate red dunes like trails of ants on some random, yet vital, mission.

"…We are standing in God's Zen garden…"

The goal? To drive as fast as possible up the one side of a dune and to ramp/skid/bounce down the other side without rolling the car, bursting a tyre or getting stuck in the soft sand. To feel the adrenalin pump through your body, as you grip the seat until your knuckles go white and shriek delightedly every time you fly off the seat. As I said: a car full of women.

But when we stop and step unsteadily from the car into the fine warm sand, the excited babble is replaced by quiet appreciation. The desert is truly magnificent. Awe-inspiring. Its soft red folds stretch for miles in every direction, absorbing sound and leaving the air heavy with silence. The wind has decorated the dunes with fine lines and intricate patterns. We are standing in God's Zen garden.

Our trip into the desert is not merely an adrenalin-fuelled junket; we've come to experience an authentic Bedouin-style dinner. Well, as authentic as you can get in a place like Dubai. I suspect that, in the details, there is very little about the experience that is not painted with a Western veneer, but I like to think that in essentials it has some semblance of the real thing. That the gentle, attentive hospitality is genuine.

We approach the camp on foot as the light fades. Sitting snugly at the bottom of a group of dunes, the collection of tents is lit up by a bonfire and long-poled flaming lamps. Forming a semi-circle, each of the tents is completely open on its inward-facing side. Colourful Persian carpets and cushions cover the ground. On a large carpet in the centre of the circle is a group of musicians and, later, a belly-dancer.

Although the whole experience is without doubt created purely for tourists, it is difficult not to be seduced by its charms. A shy burqa-clad woman with a sure, deft hand creates beautifully intricate henna designs on our hands and feet in a matter of minutes; an exquisite belly-dancer teases her captive audience; dinner is eaten casually on cushions around low tables; and, after dinner, sweet tea and fragrant sheesha (hookah) is served.

If anything draws me back to Dubai, it won't be the gravity-defying buildings, the vast shopping malls, the plush hotels or even the man-made islands; it will be the desert. The desert, with its uncomplicated beauty, and that all-encompassing sense of stillness. God's Zen garden indeed.


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