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Dubai didn’t mean much to me. At best, some thoughts and prejudices.

I stay in Deira, the historic center of Dubai. My hotel is located under the aircraft’s route and just next to a minaret. The room smells of moisture, but it
is cheap, according to local criteria. At the bottom of my window, the whole world rubs shoulders in a bustle of life. Handlers pushing handcarts, Indians on bikes, Africans in coloured clothes, Russian women with bare legs, Muslims praying on the sidewalk, dubious street vendors (“Watch mister? IPhone? Good Price!”) and, in the evening, teasing prostitutes. In the surrounding streets, massage parlor cards are constantly swiped in the slot of the doors of parked cars. With pictures of exotic beauties and a phone number on it.

I get off on the subway at Baniyas Square. It immediately dives under the Creek to resurface in modern Dubai. The first impression the city gives is
frankly impressive. Through the window of the last car, I discover, amazed, the endless procession of skyscrapers lining Sheikh Zayed Road. It’s high, Dubai. Dubai UAE.

Dubai is beautiful. Dubai is safe. Dubai is under control. But Dubai does not like chance or adventure. Here, people prefer avoiding the unexpected.

Where are the street musicians, the kids playing soccer, the kids hanging out? Where are the underground music scene, the graffiti, the surprises awaiting you at the turn? The local atmosphere, the poetry, the margins, the soul of this city? And my culture shock, where is it? – Nick Hannes