Dubai, UAE

I return from a week long trip to the Persian Gulf. Dubai has perhaps more construction cranes per square mile than any place I've seen. Buildings are coming up like rabbits in a multiplication frenzy. That said, every place feels like I took the wrong exit and landed up in Disneyland.

My friends weren't kidding that all one can do there is shop and eat. And so it is. I'm not much for shopping - except the obligatory trek to the Mall of Emirates - home to the world's most ersatz ski-run - yes: it's indoors. The slog there is made worthwhile only because I pick up some kick-ass Arabic pop including the smash hit Tootya. And the food, while great, is marred by some extremely surly management on at least one occasion. Service with a snarl it would appear.

It's not all bad. I hire a car to take me around 'old' Dubai - defined as any place older than 5 years. Anwar my chauffeur, is from Kerala in India. He regales me with stories about boozy old men trolling the fleshpots which startles me a bit because I would imagine here-parts to be far more conservative. It turns out Dubai is where the entire Middle East comes to 'unwind.' Everything apparently is fair game - as long as you don't make a big show of it.

The Gold and Spice souks are interesting - and remind me of my hometown of Mumbai. The air's infused with cardamom, cloves and nutmeg. Gujaratis seem to own many of the jewelry stores - straight out of Zaveri Bazaar.

He drives me around the old dockyards and I'm fairly amazed by what I see - decrepit dhows and steamers loaded to the hilt with all manners of dry goods including flat panel TVs, airconditioners, mountains of rice and spice stuffed into jute and polythelene bags. This is the way Dubai has flourished for centuries - as a trading outpost for countries rimming the Gulf. I ask a weather-beaten shiphand where his ship's heading to - "Bushehr, Iran," comes the answer.

I request Anwar to take me to the dives to eat some authentic biryani and he comes through. We share rice, lamb, spice and grease - the total tab? 25 Dirhams (approx: 7 USD). And no bottled water for me - the glass of tap water is sufficiently dirty, just the way I like it. In the immortal words of our soon-to-be-superannuated village idiot - "Bring it on!"

One of my colleagues is really hot for Burj Al Arab - and so we make the obligatory trek to its bar only to gag on $10 bottles of wine marked up twenty times. Yikes! Talk about an arbitrage opportunity. We settle for el-cheapo martinis - loading up on the as yet free olives. Phew!

I espy very few natives - Dubai appears to be run by a vast army of South Asian immigrant labor toiling away for not a whole lot. In fact, the entire staff of my very comfortable hotel is either from India, Sri Lanka, Pakistan or the Philippines. I feel strongly that there is very little separating these folks from the life and opportunities that I've been given - I feel a wave of humility and gratitude wash over me. I try to tip (out-of-pocket needless to say) whenever I can. I feel remiss with the overt gestures of hospitality and respect - too many years in America, I suppose.

On my last morning in Dubai I decide to catch up on my reading by the very nice beach attached to a sister hotel. The waters of the Arabian Sea are warm and two shades of blue. I feel suddenly homesick for Mumbai, a mere 600 miles to the west. I wade in trying to look nonchalant about the Jellyfish warnings. Needless to say, I'm scared witless but take some confidence from the hordes of people in the water.

On way out of the hotel I see some American dude yelling at the waitstaff and it makes my blood boil. It's clear there is a strong socioeconomic caste system at play in this country - with the Emirati Arabs enjoying the benefits of a cradle-to-grave welfare state, followed by white expats managing most businesses - and down the ladder.

I ask Charles my Filipino cab-driver how long he's been here and how long he intends to stay here. "14 years - and I get to see my kids maybe once a year back in Manila." He continues, "No one wants to stay in Dubai - it's just the economic conditions back home are worse. And I've a family to feed." He laments that Dubai has become ruinously expensive in the last few years, so much so that many people commute in to work from the neighboring Emirates like Sharjah, where things are a fair bit less dear.

At the airport, I make the acquaintance of a kind gentleman - a fellow traveller from the Bay Area it turns out - who gets me past the long lines and into the frequent flyer queue by claiming I'm with him. Turns out he's here in Dubai to drum up business for his Marin County startup.

I sink into my cramped seat - and hope that I can stay asleep the entire duration of the 15 hour flight to Washington D.C.