Dubai, Thus Far

Dubai was one of the few places in the world that didn’t make it in my bucket list.

My bucket list cities include Paris, London, Jerusalem, Vienna, Romania, the Vatican… Old cities – cities filled with people, culture, food, music, but most of all, stories.

I always equated Dubai with modernity, and because I am, for all my liberal-mindedness, an incurable old soul, I am not so much fascinated with the novelty as I am with the vintage.

When I first decided to come to Dubai, I had little to no expectations.

I wanted to come to Dubai for a lot of reasons, but none of them promised… well, wonder.

But one week in Dubai has opened my senses to sights and sounds beyond my wildest imagination.

From the moment I got off the Emirates airplane (which was, by far, the best flight I’ve ever had), I was in awe of the monstrosity that was the Dubai International Airport. I arrived at almost 5 a.m. and was treated with my first view of the city light veins of my new home. I hopped in an airport bus and didn’t think twice about not taking a seat. I had, at that point, been traveling for almost 16 hours (if you count the 7-hour stopover in Singapore). I was pretty beaten-up, but I was just glad to be able to stand on my feet again. I instantly regretted my decision when, after the long in-bus Arabic announcement, the English translation that followed informed me that the trip was to take 15 minutes.

A quarter of an hour’s travel in an airport bus! How huge is the Dubai International Airport, exactly? Beats me. But it was the first of my many weird, wonderful moments in Dubai.

Dubai is unlike anything I’ve grown up with in Cebu. Early mornings in Cebu smelled of hot pan de sal and jeepney exhaust; early mornings in Dubai smell of shisha smoke wafting from open-air coffee shops. The people who walk the streets of Cebu dress in shirt and jeans; here in Dubai, there are just as many people clad in shirt and jeans as there are in colorful saris (for the Indian women) and ankle-length robes (white for Emirati men and black for Emirati women). In Cebu, when one thinks of public transportation, jeeps come to mind, where strangers are seated side-by-side as though they are lovers; in Dubai, it’s unthinkable for unmarried men and women to share the same area, much less sit together. In fact, there is a hefty fine of AED 100 (PHP 1,200-1,300) for any man caught in a women and children’s only compartment (I first knew about this when I saw a big Western man excusing his way to the men’s side of the train, followed by his laughing blond mother). The list of culture shocks goes on and on, that I sometimes feel as though I moved into another planet altogether instead of a different time zone.

Unlike what few places I’ve been to outside of Cebu before, I saw Dubai as my new home. And because having a home implies living, or, at the very least surviving, I had to act fast to get a job. Sure, I wanted to see the Burj Khalifa in the flesh, but there was no way I could buy an elevator ticket to the top if I didn’t get a job.

I didn’t think like a tourist; I thought like the adopted resident that I was. So in case you were wondering, yes, I went to my first job interview on Day 1, sleepless, bug-eyed, and jet-lagged. How did it go? Terribly, actually, but it’s more complicated than that and, in the end… Never mind. I think I should just tell it like it is.

See, I applied for a secretarial position in a company owned by one of the many big-shot Emiratis in the city. I was first interviewed by the administrative manager / accounts manager / human resource manager, Mr. B—. He’s this comical middle-aged Indian man with an adorable accent, and of course he’s awesome, considering he’s three times a manager. And then Mr. B— asked me to wait for the managing director, a certain Mr. R—, to call me to his office. When Mr. B— introduced me to Mr. R—, Mr. R— shook my hand and told me to wait for him for a couple more hours, because he had to go out for lunch (uh-huh). And so I did, because that’s what you do when you’re a penniless pauper in the land of Arabian Nights, a female Aladdin without a lamp. Those 2 hours served me well enough. I spent my time chatting with the 2 Filipina receptionists and learned that Mr. R— is less than 5 years older than me. He’s incredibly young, still in his mid-20s, and already running his father’s group of companies. You’d think he’d be cool and chill, but that wasn’t my first impression of him. He was a very intimidating and authoritative figure in his long white robe (it’s called a thawb, go figure) and turban ensemble.

Fast forward two hours later (and a whole lot of premature office gossip), Mr. R— comes back, heads straight to his office, and locks himself up for another hour. I kid you not. At least by the time he remembered I existed, I was too weary to feel nervous, right? Wrong. Mr. R— told me to sit, and then he lit a cigar behind his enormous desk. He would have made a nice picture in the encyclopedic entry for “big boss.” He didn’t prod me with questions. He started with “Tell me about yourself.” And as anyone will tell you, it’s one of the toughest questions out there. There’s no one way to answer that kind of question. I mean, you don’t want to sound like your Tinder profile in front of your potential boss. I made it as boring and basic as possible. And then Mr. R— cut me off and started talking about himself in between cigar puffs. He told me he ran five (or was it six?) companies and that he does business with His Royal Highness the Sheikh of Dubai himself. He said that even though he was the youngest in the office, people would shiver whenever he’s around; he did admit that this was neither a good thing nor a bad thing. When he got tired of talking about how awesome he was, he told me to continue talking about myself, which was a bit anti-climactic, seeing as that I didn’t have companies or royalties on my plate. I told him I worked as a teacher for a year, came back the year after, felt a lack of personal growth… basically, I skipped the tragic family story, because I was applying for a job, not for a reality TV show. I said I was looking for a career change; he told me I was lost, and that I didn’t know what to do with my life.

You’d think the story ends here. After all, the man practically called me a bum. But allow me to continue.

There I was feeling sorry for myself. Mr. R—, still not quite contented with underachiever-shaming me, forced me to admit he was right. That I was indeed lost. And so I nodded like the complete nincompoop that I was. He started talking about himself again. He said that he had an apt for reading people, and that he knew exactly what his employees did at all times, even with his eyes closed. He also said that he knew their places in the company, and the question was, where was mine? He said he intentionally made me wait for 3 hours (ha!), so that I could observe the company, an outsider looking in, and figure out my place for myself. I pathetically mumbled I wanted to be in the secretarial office, which wasn’t the whole truth (nobody grows up dreaming to become a secretary. It’s always an astronaut – or a rock star, in my case). On that unconvincing final note, Mr. R— told me to wait another hour outside his office, because he had to “think it over.” Mr. R— then called Mr. B— into his office, and then Mr. B— told me to wait for their phone call.

Worst job interview of the century.

Next thing you know, I’m sitting behind a desk in an office. My office. To my surprise (and horror), I got in.

Don’t ask me how. I told the story exactly the way it happened, but if I had to relive those few dreadful moments, I’d say that I struck gold when I said that I craved personal growth – never mind that it got me an embarrassing impromptu life coaching from potential-turned-actual boss.

When I got called back into the office, Mr. R— asked me how I saw the company: short-term or long-term. Of course I said long-term (even though the commitment-phobic part of me was nagging me the whole time). And then he gave me two choices: one was to take the secretarial position with zero personal growth opportunities or two, take the accounts assistant position and all the personal growth opportunities (plus business travels!) that came with it. Easiest. Decision. Ever.

So there you have it!

Dubai – I don’t think there’s another place quite like it in the world. It has the world’s tallest building, the world’s biggest shopping mall, an indoor ski resort, and camelccinos (cappuccinos + camel milk) to boot! It’s a quirky paradise. It’s love at first week.