No dancing in Dubai

Farewell to dancing dishdashes and foxtrotting abayas, with the latest fatwa on fun in the sandlands:

Dubai - Playing loud music, dancing, nudity, kissing and even holding hands in public is considered inappropriate behaviour under new guidelines laid down by the authorities of Dubai, a report said on Saturday.

But wait... what about that legendary Gulf cultural phenomenon, the breathtaking choreographed display known as stickdancing?

An entire Dubai-tourism-video-producing industry falls on its knees and weeps.


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The Yorkie Bars are on me!

So much for the big clean up at Bur Dubai's notorious York Hotel a couple of years ago - it's clearly back to its full, swinging glory:

"Nowhere is more sickeningly emblematic of the country's seedy new underbelly than the bar at the downtown York International Hotel - a squalid cauldron that should shame any civilised society, let alone one so devoutly Islamic. As the overhead TVs show bloody, noholds barred fighting contests, and music throbs deafeningly, a veritable United Nations of prostitutes - Chinese, Ethiopian, Russian, Nigerian - barter their services."

Well, at least it's more evidence of Dubai's wonderful multiculturalism. Sex in every ethnic flavour.


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Death of a dancing girl

This is what happens when you lock up people in their own room like slaves: if there is a fire or an emergency they cannot escape, and they die:

Aaina Malek, a Pakistani dancer, died in the apartment when the fire broke out as she could not escape. Another girl, Lucky, who was also trapped in the fire, was rescued by neighbours after they broke the door open.

Apparently this is standard practice:

"They normally keep the girls, who perform in dance clubs, locked in their flats during the day for "safety" reasons," said a dancer, who works at another club.

"It is quite common and the management of many Indian and Pakistani night-clubs follows the same practice.

"We are taken to clubs around 8pm and brought back to flats after 3am when the clubs close. We are not allowed to go anywhere. We are given food in the flat and we live like prisoners," she said.

Prisoners condemned to death by fire.

Hooters in Dubai

Dubaians mourning the closure of hallowed nightspot Cyclones can rejoice again: Hooters is on its way to the sandlands!

A Kuwaiti investor plans to bring the classy and tasteful American entertainment concept to the UAE:

"I am trying to secure a location to open one restaurant this year and a year from now I will have two to three potential locations," Jamal Al Shaheen, a Kuwaiti investor, who has the franchise rights for Hooters in Dubai, told Dow Jones Newswires on Tuesday.

Many stores, such as Marks & Spencer, offer customised uniforms for UAE staff. For M&S, this is a black abaya with a discreet company logo trim on the cuffs. It will be interesting to see what Hooters' shariah-compliant costumes turn out to be. "Singlets and skimpy shorts" with a Hooters-branded hijab?

And perhaps UAE banks will follow the lead of their Lebanese counterparts, and offer bank loans for boob jobs. Given they'll now be a legitimate business investment for those wanting a career as a Dubai Hooters Girl.

Pretty women

Everyone's favourite rake-about-town, Sir Raffles of Rutshire, jets in to the sandlands for a week's sun in Abu Dhabi and a week's snow in Dubai. Sipping a mug of mulled Vimto at the Avalanche cafe, he enthuses about the convenience of the UAE for the international cad:

"It's all here: beaches, clubs, sun, sea and snow."

Sadly, one of the sandlands' most famous attractions may be somewhat diminished when Sir Raffles next visits. For many of the downtown ladies are being rounded up and sent back home:

A source in a popular hotel in Bur Dubai said police asked "all suspicious women to step out of the clubs and checked their identification papers before arresting a few."

What exactly is a "suspicious woman"? Do the police perhaps use some kind of points system, where if someone scores more than three out of five then they're sent packing? "Miniskirt: check. East Asian/Russian appearance: check. Enjoys evening strolls around Golden Sands: check. Right love - on your bike."

And what about the myriad of more-modestly dressed ladies with valid visas and even wedding rings who supplement their pin money by visiting five star hotels with various gentlemen friends?

Booze and bang to rights

It really is a bizarre day when someone gets prosecuted for drinking beer in a Dubai pub:

"Dubai: A Briton has been acquitted of drinking alcohol because he had a liquor permit issued to him by the police."

All well and good, but what about tourists? They don't have special permits when they visit Dubai.

"A police report said the man was caught drunk and was referred to the Public Prosecution which charged him with having beer at a Bur Dubai pub."

This is completely arse about tit. Drunken, rowdy behaviour in public - fine. Charge him with that. Don't charge him with something that is 100 per cent legal in the sandlands (Stone Age Sharjah excepted).

"His lawyer told the court that the general manager was allowed to purchase and consume liquor. The suspect purchased the beer in a pub in a hotel. The pub is authorised to sell liquor and he had a permit to consume liquor, explained the defence lawyer."

One really has to wonder how cases like this ever get to court. What a total waste of everyone's time and money.

In other news, given how advanced the UAE's medical facilities are becoming, it's unusual to see people travelling to Bangkok for "medical treatment". And if your wife is going to write ten million dirham cheques in your absence, all the more reason to seek "treatment" closer to home.

The land of white suits

Tourist tip: if you're planning to enjoy Dubai's nightlife, don't forget to abide by the dress code, or you're likely to be refused entry in many places. Wear a white suit.

A white suit. Not a brown suit and definitely not a black suit, that's completely unacceptable in most venues.

Doesn't matter how rich you are, or how presentable, or how important: white suits only please. Men and women. Thank you for your time.

Mysteries, Ancient and Modern

Ancient mystery:

"Meanwhile, a Japanese team of archeologists has concluded its six-week survey in Khorfakan reporting discoveries that include Islamic artifacts dating to 14th and 15th centuries BC."

Erm... when was Islam founded?

Modern mystery:

"The Dubai hotel which Nayak is said to own in partnership with an NRI was described by a source as 'the mother of all dance bars'. "

Anyone know where this is? Apparently "you can enjoy the wine and belly dancing in one hall and if you are bored, you can switch to another hall, where you have Indian girls dancing to Hindi film music." The proprietors of Cyclones must be trembling in their sandals.

Mirror image of Dubai

A happy new year throughout the sandlands and beyond, as the UK Mirror encourages yet more hordes of Brits to enjoy the delights of Dubai:

"Ask any long-haul air crew about their favourite layover destination and they'll tell you that top of their list is Dubai, in the United Arab Emirates."

Is it really? Any air crews reading this, do feel free to check in with your comments. But what a fascinating range of alternately obscure, overpriced or seedy venues the Mirror suggests:

"The atmospheric Night Souk features stores selling fashion, accessories, electronic gadgets, cosmetics, jewellery, watches and a range of exotic goods such as Persian carpets and spices.

"Open from 8pm to 3am, this is the hottest place to shop in the coolest part of the day, while the newly-revamped Global Village next door brings together music, dance, arts, handicrafts, theatre and cuisine and is a much sought-after destination."

Are there Persian carpets at the Night Souq? From memory, it offers discounted, outdated consumer electronics and factory clearance jeans. And "next door" to the Global Village? Yes, if you live on a remote ice station in Antarctica and your nearest neighbours are 30 miles away.

"Lots of tour firms offer 4x4 desert safaris, visiting bedouin camps" - bedouin camps, yes, with plumbed toilets, alcohol, resident henna ladies and belly-dancers, and only two ancient, over-decorated camels per tribe. "Golf vies with horse racing as Dubai's second religion - Islam, of course, being the first." - a statement of both questionable taste and accuracy: money is Dubai's second religion. "Falling off your windsurfer is like plunging into a warm bath" - not in winter, unless you're the Antarctica family again, and your water heater is broken. "And despite all the offshore building work - they are currently constructing the Palm, a huge offshore island - the sea is surprisingly clear" - is it? Certainly compared to the pristine turquoise glass of four years ago, before the dredging started, it isn't.

But for the average Mirror-reader-coming-to-Dubai, there are at least a couple of pieces of useful advice:

"If you're after something more basic, there are three McDonald's in Dubai as well as Burger Kings, KFCs and a couple of Pizza Huts."

"Cyclone The Club, in downtown Dubai, is one of the biggest venues in the Middle East."

Mirror readers will be delighted to find out precisely what it is "big" for.

"Vibrant nightlife"

7Days comes up with a stand-out euphemism in a story about the closure of several hotel bars in Dubai:

"Staff at the York International confirmed the raid. “There was some license problem for the pub and the bar. This is why the Municipality conducted the raid but it will be sorted out soon,” said one staff member.

"The manager of the Rush Inn Hotel declined to comment on the order. A spokesman for the Imperial Suites hotel denied reports it had also been raided. All the hotels are well known for their vibrant nightlife."

All Dubaians know what the York is famous for, and it ain't Grand Old Dukes. Seedy old dukes maybe.

Meanwhile the ever ill-written Khaleej Times is fretting about vice-ridden cafes, without bothering to titillate their readers with a single juicy detail of these evil places:

"These smoke-filled basement cafes are also places for illegal activities. We urge the authorities to conduct strict inspection of such premises, and ensure that there are no violations, even if it calls for major modifications."

Danish diplomacy

A Scandinavian associate, Inge, recently attended her country's expat Christmas bash. She went with a large group of friends, many of whom were smokers. Seeing lots of children there, they deliberately chose a separate, empty table away from the youngsters, and lit up their cigarettes while waiting for two final friends to arrive.

Up comes a couple towards the empty slots: husband, small child, and heavily pregnant wife.

"We're very sorry but we've reserved these seats for our friends stuck in traffic," Inge tells them politely.

"Tough luck," comes the curt reply, and the hell-couple sit down.

After a few moments, the hell-wife starts a fake "coughing" performance. "You know, smoking is very bad for me in my condition," she announces, clearly expecting everyone to extinguish. Because she and her hell-husband have been so rude, no one does.

"Look," Inge suggests after some awkward moments pass. "There are many other spaces free. We really wanted to have all our friends together for an adults-only table - why don't you find a non-smoking table?"

At this, hell-husband goes off. He starts ranting and raving and shouting in anger at the dozen adults already sitting on the table. His performance is so loud and embarrassing that the Ambassador is called over to save the day.

"He was very diplomatic. He said to them - look, there are lots of double spaces free - and managed to move them away. Our friends arrived, and we all had a great night," Inge relates. The irony is that Inge and her friends aren't fag-monsters. "We would have happily stopped smoking if they had even attempted to be polite, And if they had been there first, none of us would have even lit up."

Smoking may be an unhealthy, unpleasant habit. But when smokers attempt to segregate themselves and show consideration - rare behaviour among most Dubaian fag-addicts - there's no point kicking them in the teeth.

Chavving it up in Dubai

Chavdom has taken firm root in Dubai, according to 7Days. Both male and females chavs wear plenty of jewellery, baseball caps, and "tight hipster jeans, with protruding thongs there for all to admire":

"Arab Chavs tend to have a strong liking for some of Versace’s more garish creations while female Chavs of all nationalities are required to buy all their clothes at least two sizes too small. Chavs will buy their gear from any designer store but a special mention has to go out to the many clothes shops in Karama which offer classic Chav gear for very affordable prices."

The article's definition of chav manages to encompass nearly every single expat below retirement age in Dubai. The men adore car-chase action films, the women romantic comedies. They like either dance music or R&B, watch soaps and reality TV, and regularly request Justin Timberlake or Jennifer Lopez on the radio. They sport mobile phones with irritating ringtones permanently glued to their ears, and they all love drinking:

"A Dubai Chav can be seen in their natural habitat of the nightclub on practically any night of the week. Carters on a Sunday, Scarlett’s on a Tuesday, Mix/Trilogy/Peppermint on the weekend, and of course if you’re an Arab Chav, then Sho Cho on any night of the week."

There is, very fortunately, no mention of largeing it up at Jebel Ali Cloob. Cell Block G inmates breathe an aristocratic sigh of relief, quietly burying any fake gold jewellery and romantic DVDs in the sand outside the verandah.

Dress for stress

UAE national Mohammad Al Adhab is angry that that dishdashes are banned from nightclubs:

""Last week, I was with two men from France and the United States and we went to a club in Dubai. At the gate, the security guards told me people wearing Arab dress were not allowed inside."

According to government sources, the ban is in place to save the reputation of the UAE, after "irresponsible behaviour" by some locals in a bar:

"Foreigners took pictures of these men and women and then showed them on the internet. This was aimed at spoiling the country's reputation. Thus, any one wearing local Arab dress is banned from entering such places."

But surely a more pressing motive lurks beneath. Beer, wine, sweat and lipstick stains would irreparably damage gleaming white robes of finest Egyptian cotton, no matter how thorough the laundering. Mr Al Adhab should emulate his western friends, and don a revoltingly jazzy shirt for his nighttime sorties.

Crowded out

A PR associate's phone call comes at a weak and flustered moment, resulting in the acceptance of two tickets to a concert rather than a tactful excuse.

"Big" concerts take place at various unsuitable venues around Dubai, due to the fact that the Emirate has not yet built a permanent entertainment stadium. Fortunately this one is being held at Media City, not too far from Guantanamo. Sweaty crowds have already collected in the humid night by the time the Silver Shadow draws up at the gates, so we flick them aside with a sharp-edged press pass and find a quiet perch at the very top of the temporary stadium.

Prayers that the Dubai expatriate collective will not likewise scale the slopes of the metal mountain fail as a mid-fifties British yob and his bleached Eastern-European girlfriend - so much his junior that she is wearing orthodontic braces - choose a seat within spitting distance. They chainsmoke, they are raucous, and the man yells "yeah" and "wow!" like a deranged teen, perhaps hoping this exuberance will blind his paid-partner's eyes to his grey hair, lined face and generally unbecoming appearance.

When the international singer makes the grave mistake of calling: "Are there any real men out there?" (Why in God's name would there be? This is Dubai) grey-haired cradle-snatcher is first on his feet, fist in the air. Bleach-braces does likewise for the "real women" call. Hopefully both will finish the night so drunk that they stumble into the stagnant, saline swamp of Media City lake and dissolve by dawn.

Eventually, overcome by the endless din and fetor of the general public, we make a discreet and very early exit. Concertgoers are still arriving as the Silver Shadow slips away into the darkness.

A hole in the sand

A new contact introduces a fresh crop of rumours and conspiracy theories, straight from the camel's mouth. Most news is the usual who's up and who's down - those currently in sheikhly favour, and those exiled from the majlis.

But most excitingly: "the locals have dug a secret nightclub in the desert somewhere between Dubai and Abu Dhabi." A nightclub where anything goes - from romping to roulette. This from the friend of a friend of a friend of an unnamed expat who "put the sound system in."

What is most enchanting is not so much the idea of dishdashes enjoying devious pleasures in some sandy dug-out, as the image of white-robed figures on a moonlit night, shovelling sand to excavate their hidden dive.

Simpletons Red

Expat Moron Prize of the Year must go to the group of mad fools who bought five tickets at Dh200 each to the recent Simply Red abhorrence, and lost them. One ton wasted.

For reasons incomprehensible to any homo sapiens with the sapiens still attached, they then bought another five tickets, and actually attended the ordeal. A second ton, flushed into the desert drains.

The ginger crooner was in Oxygen the other night. They could have seen him for free, while listening to acceptable music. Albeit played by what can only have been an ex-wedding DJ. No wonder Hucknall vanished early, without pulling a single hostie.

Jebel Ali Club revisited

The Surveyor is visiting from Yemen, with a freshly smuggled harvest of stoneage flint arrowheads, but sadly no souvenirs from the gun souq.

To ease him gently back into Dubai's seven-star lifestyle, after the camel-spider infestations, boiled-mush Yemeni cookery and AC-free camping of energy company Halibut's desert Butlins, a half way house is needed. Too much gilt might explode his brain, so we stop for supper in that grim expat hole, Jebel Ali Fat Northern Working Men's club.

This time warp of a bar-come-social-club is rooted firmly in the very early eighties, a time when "prawn thermidor" or "chateaubriand" would be considered rare, exotic and the height of clarse. "BBQ" considered an exciting and special treat, not a rain-dampened lukewarm charcoal disappointment best left in the hand of antipodean cousins. When deejay cool directly related to gold sequinned jackets and mullets, rather than inversely.

Freezing, hideously furnished both in terms of decor and clientele, but thankfully the retro-themed menu is all very edible. And food, at the end of a long hard day at SHAC, or a long hard month in the Yemeni desert, is the only thing that matters.

Middle of Motown

At karaoke tonight in the very heart of Sheikhmohammedville - a video transcending any other ever made. Madonna's "La Isla Bonita" - so nano-sized was its budget, so limited the creative flair and talent of its crew, that the the Espana effect derived from a flamenco act at some variety club in what could only have been a grim ex-mining town in the arse end of north England.

Sadly the flamenco act was over well before the song, so the second half of the Spanish Lullaby featured Jim Bowen's grandpa with clip-on bowtie and spangled tux, backed by twin Widow-Twankies and a gay pride Buzz Lightyear.

All up, it was probably still more tasteful than Madonna's latest video.

Fisherman's Basket

A severely disturbing experience in both time travel and teleportation: one second hurtling down Sheikh Zayed through the desert, the next instant transported to a 1980s style suburb of west Birmingham with a traditional-style working men's club, faded in its dingy glory. Jebel Ali "village", and Jebel Ali club.

Here the walls are lurid with posters of dated pub performers, the clientele sport broad northern moustaches and even broader accents, the food includes prawn and grapefruit cocktail and Fisherman's Basket, and - call the mullahs! - Friday's special is honey roast ham or pork.

The only clue that this is a weird, alien simulation of 1980s "British life" is the staff: all filipinos (robots?), rather than fat Corrie Street-esque barmaids and shifty-eyed landlords.

The Horror Pt 2: British "theme" pubs

Nothing can be quite so tragic or ghastly as the sight of a crowd of beerbellied British 40-somethings trying to "recreate" Old Blighty in the glacially air-conditioned interior of some fake Olde English Poob.

British pubs don't open off the gilded, marble lined atriums of various five star hotels. They are not freezing inside - most often they are stuffy, stagnant and humid. They do not charge upwards of five quid for half a pint of watered down piss (except in Lahhndahhn maybe). They are not staffed by bow-tied Filipinos paid tuppence an hour. Their lavatories do not contain freshly-cut flowers, graffiti-free walls, and solid silver bowls of potpourri.

According to today's Gulf News, there are 200,000 cable-ready homes in the UAE and in two years the entire country will be cable-ready.

It can also safely be assumed that in that timeframe Linux and Mac users will still not be able to get ADSL, those that can will be reduced to pre-Tandy modem bitrates by Etisalat's pathologically sluggish proxy, and those lucky enough to live in Umm Seqeim will probably be tapping in to the Tecom intranet with crocodile clips and copper wire.