by Cat Shinier
Susan was right, as usual. The flight leaves absolutely nothing to be desired. The service is first-class and attentive stewardesses appear immediately when passengers need help. My seat is comfortable, and I have a lot of space to myself. It’s the kind of luxury that you appreciate even more when you don’t have to pay for it yourself.
We are approaching Dubai, and the plane is descending on its final approach to the airport. The ocean appears on the other side of the aisle, glittering in the sunlight like a gem. I can begin to see Dubai. I hadn’t thought that Dubai was that big or that modern. The skyline consists of high-rises with shiny facades and wide streets divided by strips of green. From a distance the cars all look big and expensive. Everywhere I see blue patches, and as we get closer, I realize that they are water basins. I had been expecting small, greyish brown brick huts and a smallish downtown area. But the city we are flying over looks modern, spiffy clean and sparkly.
I see a row of hotel compounds that are lined up along the beach like colorful pearls on a necklace. Now the hotel where I will be staying, the Burj Al Arab – which means “The Tower of the Arabs” - comes into view. It completely dominates the skyline. The building was designed to look like a billowing sail, towards the sun and right into the blue sky like the huge sail of a dhow, the traditional boat that used to sail the Indian Ocean for centuries. The hotel rises up on its own island and is the icon of Dubai. The façade glitters in the sunlight. In real life it is much, much bigger than I imagined. I only have time for a quick glance before the plane banks and starts descending into its landing pattern.
Next I can see the airport. Two wide runways and a long building are below to my left. Then the plane changes direction again, which means that we are approaching the last phase of the landing. I hear the sound of the various flaps on the wing panels as the turbines roar during descent. There’s a rumble, and then the wheels are lowered. A few minutes later the plane lands as softly as on a pillow. The landing is so gentle that the stewardess wouldn’t have had to remove our drinks. Together with the other passengers I leave the plane via the long connector that has been connected to the plane. There is a line at passport control, but ten minutes later I have passed through and am on my way to pick up my suitcases. While I wait for my suitcase, I rummage around in my purse for my cell phone and switch it on to write an SMS to Susan to let her know that I have arrived safely.
* * *
Great flight. Safe landing. Am waiting for my suitcase. Will write when I’m in my hotel room.
xoxoxox Luna
* * *
The conveyor belt with the suitcases sputters into motion and squeaks. I’m lucky, and my suitcase is one of the first ones to appear. I move towards it, when one of my fellow passengers– a tall, dark-haired man – steps forward and asks if it is my suitcase. I nod, and he nimbly snatches it off the revolving belt and places it squarely before me.
“Thank you so much,” I say and smile at him.
He smiles right back and wishes me a pleasant stay in Dubai.
I pull out the handle from the suitcase and move in the direction of the exit from the arrival area. Huge glass doors open without making a sound and lead me into a hall where lots of people are waiting. Everything here is air-conditioned, even though it is quite a bit warmer than in the baggage claim area. I am wearing jeans and a T-shirt. The jacket that I was wearing in Germany before I left has been stowed away in my suitcase.
I walk a few steps before I see a few taxi drivers waiting for customers. I was told I’d have a driver pick me up, but I am not seeing them. But then a young man in a dark blue uniform moves towards me, holding a sign that reads “Luna Buchholz” up so I can read it. He looks at me questioningly and I nod in relief. I’m safe. He laughs and bows.
“I hope you had a nice flight, Miss Buchholz. My name is Ahmad, and I will be driving you to your hotel. May I take your suitcase, please?”
He has a strong accent, and his demeanor is very friendly and helpful. I nod, and he immediately takes my suitcase and briskly moves it around the people standing around us.
“Please follow me. We are almost there, Miss Buchholz.”
And since I’m not about to part ways with my suitcase, I follow him obediently. The big glass doors open again, and as I walk through the doors to the outside area I feel like I’m being hit by a wall of heat. After the air-conditioned comfort of the airport and the ice cold plane, I feel like I have been thrown into a sauna from one moment to the next. Ahmad passes by three limousines before he stops in front of a white Rolls Royce. It is large and has a round bench in back. He opens the door, and I climb in, welcoming the cool inside. The windows are tinted and seem to ward off the heat. I let go and relax and fall back into the soft cushions.
The temperature inside the car is quite pleasant. After Ahmad has stowed my suitcase in the trunk of his car, he takes a seat behind the steering wheel.
“It will take us about 20 minutes to drive to the hotel, Miss Buchholz. If you’d like something to drink, feel free to help yourself from the minibar to your right. Just pull the handle, and it will open.”
I turn around and see the handle. But I am too excited to want anything, aside from the fact that I was served so generously during the flight. So I lift my hands, shake my head and answer him.
“Thanks, Ahmad, but at the moment I am fine.”
Ahmad nods his head and turns around. Then the limousine starts up. The motor is so quiet I can hardly hear it, and we glide over wide streets without potholes or bumps in the direction of the hotel.
Ten minutes later I can see the Burj al Arab between the buildings. It is immense. The famous shape of the sail is prominent. Despite its size, the building appears elegant and almost delicate. I had checked out the hotel on the internet and am now really looking forward to seeing it in real life. Ahmad turns right and onto the long drive up to the hotel. He parks, then exits and opens the door for me. As I exit the car, I notice that all the men are either wearing the white traditional robes or expensive-looking designer suits. The women I see look elegant in their expensive clothes and heavy gold jewelry.
All of a sudden I feel out of place in my jeans and t-shirt, and my self-confidence evaporates. But Ahmad overlooks it - if he has even noticed. He hands my suitcase to a bell-boy who he tells me to follow. Then he smiles again, touches his cap, turns around and climbs back into the limousine and drives off again. The bell-boy hovers next to me with my suitcase, waiting for instructions. I nod, and he turns around immediately. He hurries into the inside of the hotel, and all of a sudden we have stepped into a different world. I am surrounded by brightness and cool air. The lobby area is very spacious, and there are groups of chairs and tables spread throughout it. The floor is a light grey striped white marble.
I look up and notice that the spacious area above me stretches over several stories, behind which various hallways extend towards the upper floors. Everything here is in white. Huge pillars that taper off at the top and bottom have a dark pink hue. I’m overwhelmed. I slow down and follow the bell-boy up to the gigantic reception desk, a counter that is probably about 60 feet long. Several men and women in beautiful, dark red uniforms are standing behind it.
One of the women gives me a friendly smile. She has black hair and eyes that are so dark they appear to be almost black. Her English is perfect, and she asks me if there is anything she can do for me. I explain to her that I have an invitation to the hotel. She hands me a plastic card the size of a credit card which is both my room key and my hotel pass for all of the services the hotel has to offer.
I clutch the card and decide to watch it like a hawk. The reception desk has taken command of my suitcase, and I realize that the two of us will be making our way to my room separately. Another bell-boy asks me to follow him, and we head towards the elevators that I noticed the second I entered the lobby.
We zip up to the 27th floor and step into a generous hallway and then turn left. We stop in front of room number 27688.
He slides the card into the slot and a little green light flashes. The door opens with a kind of humming noise. The bell-boy hands me the card back, hesitates briefly and then retreats with a slight bow.
Oops, I think to myself, I should have given him a tip. Now it’s too late. The door has already closed behind him. Well, live and learn. I glance around the room. The windows reach the ceiling and are framed by heavy curtains, and I have a view of the ocean and the part of the beach that several hotels share and where people are sunbathing. The bed is a king-size bed, about eight feet across each way. A square. I have never seen such a huge bed in my life. Several pillows are spread against the head of the bed and seem to be beckoning me to hop right in. I hesitate, but then I just can’t resist. I whoop and jump right into the pile of pillows.
I roll over on my back, spread my arms out and take a deep breath. It is like a fairy tale, and I am the princess, a thought that is quite unlike me. Where is rational and super-serious Luna who is continuously analyzing everything and rarely gives vent to her own feelings? I don’t know, and it is a wonderful feeling just to let go. It feels as if a huge weight is being lifted from me and imaginary iron rings are being cast off my chest. Simply unbelievable. My heart is racing and for the first time in a very long time I feel as young as the number in my passport. I climb off the bed and head over to the window, where I move right up to the glass and stand on my tip toes. It feels like I am drifting in the open air. I see people walking on the pavement around the hotel, and I also see a beautiful, deep blue pool. The deck chairs look tiny from up here. A couple of sun umbrellas have been opened, and there are waiters running around carrying trays with drinks. I decide to check out the hotel pool when my suitcase arrives, after I have unpacked.
That very instant there is a knock at my door. A bell-boy in uniform is standing there holding my suitcase. He rolls it into the room, lifts it onto the cabinet and is about to start unzipping it when I hand him a couple of dollars. I seem to have given him the right tip because he smiles at me, bows and disappears from where he came. Immediately I turn around and start unpacking my suitcase.
My room even has a walk-in closet with a safe. The door to the walk-in closet and the safe can be locked with a four-digit code. I distribute my dresses and pants on several clothes hangers, and stack my running clothes, underwear, bikini and T-shirts on the shelves. Shoes and sandals go under the shelves. I grab my make-up bag and the plastic bag with the bottles of shampoo and cleanser and my basic toiletries and enter the bathroom.
The bathroom doesn’t have a window, and when I switch on the light, I realize that it is the size of my living room at home. Everything is made of marble. There is a full-view mirror on the side of the room where the sinks are. To the left of the sinks is a bath tub that is so big it looks like a little whirlpool. It also has a number of faucets and golden nozzles. So I really do have my own whirlpool and a shower with golden nozzles. The toilet and the bidet are hidden behind a small wall.
There are a number of thick white towels of various sizes with the emblem of the Burj Al Arab hanging on the racks and stashed on a shelf. Why did I drag along all my toiletries? This bathroom is equipped like a perfumery. The complete skin care series of a famous French designer is spread out over the counter. I unscrew the cap of a little bottle and take a whiff of the shower gel, taking in the light and flowery scent. I decide to take advantage of the hotel’s toiletries and save my things for later. I stash my things in one of the cabinets. Obviously the people who design these hotels are used to larger amounts. The cabinets seem to dwarf my things, I could have brought along ten times the amount and would still have had several feet of counters left over to store tons of luxury goods.
I glance at my watch and realize that it’s 3 p.m. and thus later than I thought. According to the event planner, there will be a casual dinner and afterwards a get-together. I decide to follow my first instincts and go and have a look at the pool area, so I grab my bikini off the shelf and put it on. It is brand new, I bought it specifically for this trip: It is white and held together by metal clasps on either side. I pull over a flowery beach dress and pack a bag with underwear, sun cream, sunglasses, my cell phone and my key card and head toward the elevator, and downward to the hotel lobby, where I follow the signs that say Jumairah Pool and Play.
A few minutes later I have reached the gorgeous deep-blue Olympic size pool. There are a few sun chairs that haven’t been taken. A hotel boy who is carrying a whole array of beach towels has been following me inconspicuously. I stop in front of a chair under a sun umbrella that has a view of the ocean.
Immediately my pool boy starts spreading large soft towels over the chair and then proceeds to fold a towel and place it at the head of the chair to be used as a pillow. He places a number of other towels of various sizes next on a table next to the chair. When he is done he asks me if I would like to have something to drink, and I order a glass of fresh pineapple juice. I slip out of my dress and stretch out on the chair with a deep sigh. Heavenly. The cushion is as soft as a mattress. A gentle breeze caresses me, and I have a completely unobstructed view of the ocean.
The pool’s surface is so calm it looks like a sheet. Everything is quiet and peaceful, with no sign of the hectic comings and goings around the building. I rummage around in my purse and pull out my Ipod, stick the ear plugs in my ears and choose “Sun”, one of my favorite albums by a German group called Schiller. It always manages to remove me from the world so that I can be lost in my own reveries. Here by the pool it kind of reinforces the overall beauty I am surrounded by.
At some point, I must have fallen asleep, because when I open my eyes again I see that the sun has moved and is burning my feet with a degree of intensity I have never felt before. They have a red hue and feel pinched. Even though that in itself could have awakened me, another sensation is even stronger. I feel like I am being watched. I look around, and my gaze meets that of a man who appears to have retreated here to make a phone call. He is staring at me and sizing me up. He seems to be Arab because he is wearing a long white robe. His head is covered with a scarf that is also white, and that is fastened to his head with black cords.
The man is tall and has wide shoulders under the robe. He has a large head and face with distinctive features, including a beard which is a narrow, well-groomed designer stubble. The eyes glitter like dark mother-of-pearl and when he talks I can see his white, even teeth. His hands look manicured. He exudes an aura of power and dominance. He is talking into the phone and at the same time gazing at me.
His gaze is piercing and intense. For the first time in a long time I feel my femininity reacting. After an experience several years ago I had locked away my libido and not released it. I don’t know if it is because of the sun, the climate or the stress I’ve left behind in Germany, but somehow that part in me has been awakened, and it is curious and interested in what is about to happen.
Since that time a few years ago no one has been able to evoke that kind of emotion in me. After a traumatic encounter, I sealed myself off to outside stimulation and retreated into a kind of self-elected austerity. Undoubtedly this attitude was perfect for my studies at the university and getting good grades, but I have started to become aware of the fact that something is lacking. Ever since the graduation ceremony something has been gnawing at me, and I am gradually becoming aware of the fact that there is something I have been missing out on. The man is still standing at the side of the pool and talking on the phone. Now he has turned his back to me, but that has not given me the feeling that he is no longer aware that I am there.
Quite the contrary. I can feel how his gaze grabs ahold of me. I pretend as if I am not interested, yet I watch him furtively, because I do not want him to notice my interest. He is sexy and looks like he has a great body, wide shoulders and narrow hips. He is quite a bit taller than I am, probably about six feet or so. I can’t see his hair, but it is probably dark. A thought appears in my mind, sort of vague and not really explici
t. I wonder what it would be like to kiss him and feel his lips? I am fascinated by all the various aspects that make up his beautiful appearance.
In my mind, I can hear Susan cheering me on because I am beginning to awaken from my emotionally comatose state. Susan is whispering to me that for once I should let go and enjoy it. We have spoken about my barren love life so many times and every time I rejected her suggestions completely. But now, for the first time, I am beginning to feel that the walls that I have erected are beginning to crumble from the inside. What should I do? Let go and enjoy? I just don’t know. My breath quickens and I feel my nipples becoming erect. Oh God, seven hours away from home and my complete emotional structure is tumbling down. I lean forward to cover my telltale symptoms.
Apparently his telephone conversation is over, because he turns around and stares at me again. Am I mistaken or have his eyes darkened a bit? Almost imperceptibly, he nods at me and then disappears in the direction of the hotel lobby. I feel as if this unknown man has taken away a piece of the atmosphere, leaving a kind of vacuum around the pool that only I can feel. I need to cool down and think of something else, so I decide to jump in the pool. I see the ladder up in the left-hand corner of the pool.
I carefully check the water temperature, which is pleasantly cool, but not too cold. Slowly I climb down the ladder into the pool and fall backwards into the pool. I swim a few strokes. The water is lovely. From my perspective it looks as if I could swim right into the ocean from the pool.
