Holidaying isn’t just about getting away from it all. Even if you possess just a smattering of wanderlust, there’s still a lot you can learn about a country and its people, if you want to, that is. I’m no Phileas Fogg but, from what I’ve seen so far of planet Earth, am now more than ever convinced that, despite the website www.onlyinmalta.com, despite the justified grumbling concerning much that has to do with our society, everything considered, Malta isn’t such a bad place to inhabit after all.

Thanks to the media and the tour operators’ brochures, most of us over here associate Dubai with the petrodollars, the cavernous shopping malls, five-star hotels which really do live up to their classification and a hefty salary awaiting the expatriate employee, whatever their nationality.

Indeed, the seaside hotel my family and I stayed in during the first 10days of last July was the epitome of luxury. But what impressed us most was the genuine hospitality and unfeigned smiles on the part of the Indian, Indonesian, Filipino, Thai and Vietnamese employees. Eschewing the crowded and chlorinated pools, I thought I’d take my first swim in the clear but choppy waters of the Persian Gulf shortly before sunset. The silvery sand was still boiling hot – nothing unusual for the Middle East – but the sensation that greeted me as I ran in to the sea was a bolt from the blue: I felt I was taking a warm bath! Reading the astonishment on my face, the beach attendant jovially suggested that I stick to the swimming pools, the water in which is artificially cooled during the unbearably hot and humid summer months. I’ve heard of “indoor heated” but never “outdoor cooled”!

So, if you’re the type of person who can’t even stand the Mediterranean summer, give Dubai a wide berth between the months of May and October. The purveyors of air-conditioners must do a roaring trade: the only parts of Dubai that aren’t air-conditioned are the traffic-congested roads, the beaches and the desert.

Howard and the Hajar Mountains

The highlight of our holiday was, without doubt, a trek into the Hajar Mountains. An added bonus consisted of passing through the Sultanate of Oman together with the wealthy emirate of Sharjah, with its lovely mosques and spotlessly clean boulevards. Yes! Mountains in Dubai! To be sure, they can’t be compared to the Alps or the not far off Himalayas but we did actually stop for lunch at a goatherd’s cabin perched on top of one of these peaks at a height of around 4,000 feet above sea level. What tranquility! The stillness of these lofty surroundings couldn’t have contrasted more sharply with the concrete jungle we left behind as we roared down the highways in our hired SUV and into the desert. Our Yemeni guide and driver, a splendid fellow named Awwad (whom Ingrid, a fellow German tourist kept addressing as “Howard”, eliciting many a chortle] told us that 25 per cent of the world’s tower cranes are presently kept busy, literally 24/7 (and generously illuminated at night], in Dubai erecting contemporary versions of the Tower of Babel, one of which aspires to set another record for the world’s tallest building. Din l-Art Helwa’s Martin Scicluna accords the term “uglification” to Malta’s urban sprawl. What does he make of Dubai City Centre one wonders? Not surprisingly, Dubai is fast running out of space. And so, to keep up with the insatiable demand for more hotels, villas, dwelling places in mid-air, industrial estates, shopping malls, free ports, another airport, palaces and, by the way, smart cities, a mini-archipelago of palm-shaped artificial islands has already started to emerge offshore.

Exploitation and Human Rights

There are degrees of ugliness too. I contend that the hideousness created by these clusters of concrete megaliths is infinitely overshadowed by the exploitation of the vulnerable human beings who actually erect them. Every morning, a copy of the Khaleej Times, a local daily, used to be delivered to our room. It makes for interesting reading – full of news about what goes on not only in Dubai but the other six emirates too, Abu Dhabi, the Capital of the United Arab Emirates, being the largest and richest. One article caught my eye. Apparently, the authorities had recently enacted a piece of occupational health and safety legislation prohibiting construction work, in summer, between the hours of noon and half past three. I looked at my watch. A quarter past one. I left the air-conditioned comfort of the fifth-floor room for its sizzling balcony. According to the very same Khaleej Times, the temperature was set to rise to around 42 degrees Celsius that day, with a humidity level of around 60 per cent. I looked out in the direction of yet another hotel under construction – and there they still were. The mainly Indian, Pakistani and Bangladeshi construction workers toiling in those hellish ambient conditions – not to fatten a Swiss-numbered bank account (how can you on the equivalent of around Lm80 a month?], but simply to make enough money to ensure that their families make ends meet back home. As we islanders know full well, legislation is only as good as the quality of its enforcement.

Since our hotel was situated quite a distance away from the churches – I use the plural on purpose as the churches of all Christian denominations in Dubai are located on the same isolated parcel of land – we hired a car driven by a Pakistani chauffer to take and wait for us until the 8pm Sunday service at St Francis’ was over. On the way back, I got talking to Faisal and at one point asked him how often he managed to fly over to see his family. “My employer only lets me go once every two years. So I have to be content with hearing their voices over the phone” was his stoical yet revealing reply. In November 2006, the Prime Minister of the UAE announced measures to improve conditions for foreign migrant workers. Faisal and many of his compatriots still await their implementation.

In the coach taking us to one of the souks, I struck up a conversation with our tour leader, a German lady by the name of Renate. Without elaborating, she revealed that she had spent quite a few years in Saudi Arabia and was now thankful that she could drive her own car and dress up more or less as she pleased. I agreed that one does in fact breathe more freely in Dubai, but nevertheless pointed out that the UAE aren’t exactly renowned for their commitment to basic human rights, including the right to freedom of expression. At this, she turned distinctly uncomfortable and abruptly brought the conversation to an end. According to Amnesty International’s Annual Report (2007), human rights activists were still being subject to harassment in the UAE and the emirate of Fujairah still sentences adulterers to death by stoning.

Hijabs and Bikinis

On the eve of our departure, my wife and I thought we’d give our eight-year-old son the time of his life by taking him for the day to the Wild Wadi – Bahar-ic-Caghaq’s Splash ‘n Fun multiplied by 15. But it wasn’t the sheer size of this larger-than-life water park which left its mark on me. For, sharing the pools with nymphs in skimpy bikinis and pot-bellied Lotharios from the Western world flaunting their G-strings were dozens of Muslim ladies, still wearing their soaking wet, jet-black hijabs, playing with the children or simply chatting away with each other. The husbands, sporting swim trunks akin to Bermuda shorts, did much of the same. And yet both cultures intermingled happily enough, taking their place in interminable queues for a breathtaking slide down infinitely winding chutes, apparently oblivious to each other’s marine attire – or lack of it. It was a beautiful sight to behold and a world away from the cruel intolerance of religious fanaticism.

As the Boeing 777 taxied in to its stand, I was thankful that I still had one more day to go before reporting back, after a 20-minute drive, for well-paid work – in my own comfortable office and in my own country, where I get to see my wife and son every single day.

Martin Bugeja

is an OHS Officer

Malta Air Traffic Services