Breakfast in Dubai
“Oh, Holy Night” played in the background as the families and their nannies flooded the outdoor seating of my favorite, Fuze Caffè, on the Dubai Marina Walk. I paused out front and wondered whether I could sit among the noise to enjoy a delicious latte, followed by a refreshing lemonade to chill the caffeinated sweat exacerbated by the thick morning heat. Adults chased after their escaping children, cobblestone screeched from chairs dragging, and loud chatter competed with babbling babies or begging toddlers.
Disappointed, I made my way past the dock, surrounded by American tourists, to Café Bateel. It was calmer underneath the awning, shrouded by clouds of cigarette smoke. I secretly love smoke-filled air and often dream of smoking a cigarette while sipping a cocktail. Instead, I choose death by association to off-board some of that guilt.
I slowly drank my coffee and nibbled on my date while looking around at the few adults sprinkled throughout the sidewalk dining, drowned in a trance from their nicotine ecstasy. The clanging of construction, usually heard from the bedroom window upstairs in my family’s residence, reverberated across the marina, adding to the vibrating heat.
Gulping my water, I emptied my chilled bottle of Hildon into my glass. As I buried my face in my napkin, hoping to soak the sweat from my forehead, the attentive waitress immediately returned with another bottle. Out of habit, I lowered my head, but the waitress was determined to make eye contact as she poured me a glass of water and set the bottle aside. She asked, “Is there anything else I can get you, madam?” I quickly glanced at her before looking away, anxiously shaking my head, and replying, “No, thank you.”
As the waitress graciously smiled and walked away, I felt exposed. I had gone partying in Dubai’s Palm Jumeirah and Abu Dhabi the previous evenings, and all everyone could do was see me. I’m invisible in America, but in Dubai, the compliments and gazes were overwhelming. I wasn’t sure what I had done to deserve them and what it would take to keep that attention.
The grooves of the wicker chair began to stick to my sweaty skin, leaving imprints as I wrestled my thighs from its wooden grip. Ditching the hardcore Californian workouts for the enticing flavors of travel left me filling the chair more than expected. Frustrated by my suspected weight gain, I thought it was only a matter of time before I lost the interest of everyone entirely.
But were those thoughts true? I had struggled for years with a lack of self-esteem. I hated my natural hair, nose, body, and everything else I couldn’t list in one sitting. My experience visiting family in Dubai was intent on proving to me that I have yet to learn how to see myself. Partying with locals, primarily European ex-pats — who were outstandingly attractive and full of personality — placed me in a spotlight to be showered with compliments, touches, and stares that tickled me with a thought that I, too, could be irresistible.
I was dreading my return to America. I’d miss this city of luxury; expensive cars, romantic Arabian architecture, delicious cuisine, hypnotizing nightlife, and a diverse population were all titillating. I sighed and stared at the cobblestone beneath my sandals. I felt fabulously free, roaming the city alone under the desert’s red crescent moon, taking in the buzz of youthful partygoers and smelling petrol sticking to the air from evening traffic, ushering hopefuls to destinations at which they may find themselves or a romantic encounter.
Panic began beating in my throat. As soon as I returned to America, I would feel empty again. Was Dubai a blissful dream and America my nightmarish reality? Or was it another example of this dangerous dance I continue wherever I travel? Even within this charming city, I was bound to be reminded of the social discontent that persists everywhere. But I am too invested in my fantasies, and this elusive traveler is compelled to keep moving to avoid disappointment.
Must I keep moving to find stillness in my soul? I was thirsty for more water, but an urge prompted me to leave, denying me one last drink. I paid my bill and left, still thirsty.
