Arabia's Adventure Wonderland

Has Samar Halarnkar got a touch of the desert sun? Or has he really found the secret of having fun in Dubai without once succumbing to the Great Indian Disease of shopaholism? Here's his rough guide to Arabia's adventureland.

An endless stretch of powder-white sand runs along the road. It's 11:30 a.m. on a Wednesday, and the six-lane is astoundingly empty, save for a Ferrari that roars by--it seems to be doing 200 kmph--and disappears in an instant. Beyond, the crystal-blue expanse of the sea merges with the electric-blue canopy of a sky unsullied by smog or smoke. Fast cars and endless beaches. Is this Florida? If it is, it's a Florida on permanent holiday.

Actually, I'm standing on the edge of the desert. Before me are carpets of manicured lawns, giant fans of date palms and sweeping rows of bougainvillea. The desert? Yes, the desert is just a few minutes away as the seagulls fly. I am in the Arabian peninsula, strolling down the Abu Dhabi corniche, wondering whether to stretch out on the beach, or look for the parasailing club, which I hear is here, somewhere. There's no one on the sidewalk to ask. So, I spend the day alternately baking in the warm October sun and splashing in the warm waters of Abu Dhabi bay. I am on holiday and this is all I want: sun, food and adventure. Also, scuba-diving, parasailing, dune bashing, dune surfing--the stranger the better.

"So ji, going faar job to Dubai?'' The podgy travel agent in Delhi smirked at me, a week before I left India.

"Fun? You vant to shaap?'' he asked hopefully. ``My brather-in-laa has good stereo shaap."

No, I certainly did not want to shop in Dubai. Nor did I want a job. The United Arab Emirates (UAE) isn't just a financial mecca to Indians, it's a foreign land that feels like home: Dubai, I was told, was the best place to stay in India. Yet, it also feels like the first world with its immaculate highways, gleaming malls, cars, apartment blocks and villas. UAE may be into making fast money, but the pace of life is unhurried, very third world. That's why I'm here.

After fighting off the efforts of friends to pack me off to sparkling air-conditioned malls and souks heaving with subcontinental humanity, I grab my rucksack, dust off my Ray-Ban and head off into Arabia's adventure wonderland. I devote the first two days to bumming around on the expansive Jumeira beach. This is Dubai's Baywatch, with showers, spotless promenade and bikinis. Yes, liberal Dubai doesn't have a problem with bikinis, as long as they stay on the beach. But the women aren't tanned gold like the women of Baywatch, and they look, well, severe. That's because these aren't free-spirited Californians. They are mostly uncertain young Russians making full use of their new freedom--and money.

UAE has 700 km of coastline, so beaches are plentiful. The sea also makes this a haven for adventure sports. Dubai annually plays host to the speedboat races. Monster boats from all over the world congregate here, engines roaring like mythical sea monsters as they churn the water. If speedboats aren't your thing and you'd rather parasail--soaring on a parachute hooked to a boat--just make sure you don't do it when the races are on. Helicopters watch over the speedboats, and no one will let you take off. And it can't be very pleasant getting your parachute shredded by the blades of a helicopter, can it?

If you'd like to experience some speed yourself, jet-skiing outlets are a dime a dozen, and not very costly at Dhs 75 (Rs 750) for 30 minutes, which is really a lot of time. There's a wild abandon to jet skiing, blazing through the water, bouncing violently off frothing crests at 60 kmph. There's water skiing and wind surfing, if you know how. Or you can learn. There's also a lot of plain fun to be had from a banana-boat ride. A group of people sit one behind another astride a plastic sausage towed by speedboat. Keeping your balance isn't easy and a dunking is inevitable.

Further out from the coast, the sea provides fertile ground for scuba-diving, from gliding through coral reefs to exploring sunken ships. But scuba-diving courses--you need to first sit in a classroom for at least three or four days--take time, which I didn't really have, and they aren't exactly cheap at more than Rs 10,000 for a basic qualifying course. However, if you aren't a novice diver, consider the Musandam area in neighbouring Oman. They call Musandam the Norway of the East. It's fjord-like inlets offer a variety of diving sites. Frolicking dolphins are an added bonus. Dubai is a great base for deep-sea fishing. If you like duelling with a mahseer on the river Cauvery, try matching wits with sailfish, barracuda, marlin and huge yellowfin tuna in the middle of the ocean. Luxury deep-sea boats get you to the fish, many by using electronic fish finders; put your feet up, bait your tackle and sip a beer while waiting for the fish to bite.

You could spend your entire holiday by the sea, but the Emirates offer some intriguing pursuits on land, from ice-skating--only the Arabs could plonk humungous blocks of ice in the middle of the desert--to wadi-bashing, barrelling along dry river beds in muscular, turbocharged Pajeros, Landcruisers or Range Rovers. You aren't likely to encounter much traffic in a wadi. You might just find a wall of water coming down the opposite direction though; wadis are prone to flash floods. But they can be breathtakingly beautiful. At the end of a rocky, dusty ride you could find yourself in an oasis where crystal-clear pools of water form at the feet of small waterfalls rushing out of the desert rocks. If all this sounds too extreme, an ordinary drive through UAE is a great experience.

Two hours out of Dubai and the eight-lane expressway is history. I'm in an air-conditioned Landcruiser Prado eating up the kilometres on a very Indian-looking two-lane highway. Suddenly, my mind does a double take. Heading towards us, firing on two-and-a-half cylinders, is a Premier Padmini. What's going on here? Perhaps this is land that Dubai ceded to India. May be this was the deal: give us Padminis, we'll give you people--they're all Indians anyway. ``Actually Padminis (left-hand drives) are the cheapest cars going,'' chuckles my friend and host Devesh Mathur. ``But of course, only Indians buy them.''

Even Padminis can't detract from the rocky wonderland we suddenly enter. These are the craggy, weathered Hajar mountains. The sun is setting, and the dying desert sun envelopes the bare, brown hills in a shroud of gold, punctuated by patches of black where the unceasing winds have eroded and carved recesses in the soft stone. There is a stark, unearthly beauty to this place.

The westernised spit and polish of Dubai and Abu Dhabi seem worlds away as you freewheel down the Hajar mountains, through the less-developed Emirates along the so-called Pirate coast. Even their names are more exotic--Umm Al Qwain, Ras Al Khaimah--and in their dry interiors, interspersed with date groves, life moves very slowly indeed. The locals camp out in the open in the groves of thorn trees, or just have a simple daytime picnic.

But I had the most fun in the desert. After all, that's what Arabia is all about: rolling dunes of perfect sand. I am in the front seat of--what else--the preferred mode of transport, an air-conditioned Landcruiser, heading for the dunes about an hour out of Dubai. The expressway disappears, so does the two-lane. We are bumping along in open country. The Landcruiser crests a rise, and suddenly, in all their late-afternoon burnished glory, the dunes rear in our path. Are we getting off here? ``Nahi sar, seedha upar (No sir, straight ahead).'' Our driver, a burly, bearded Arab, speaks flawless Mumbai tapori Hindi. I gape in astonishment as he points the Landcruiser's nose towards a mountain-like dune, guns the engine, and charges. Dear God, I mutter to myself and frantically grab the dash. My insides creep into my mouth. A Russian couple in the rear seat clutch each other and scream uninhibitedly.

This is a local sport-turned-tourist attraction: dune bashing. We watch in frozen terror as we tear up the slope. Somehow, we make it to the top. Just as everyone breathes a sigh of relief, the ground falls out under us. Our driver, nonchalantly jabbering away on his cellphone, goes straight over the edge. The vehicle fills again with screams of horror.

And so it goes on. Rise. Scream. Fall. Scream. This is a roller coaster--without safety rails and restraints. It ends an hour later at the top of a broad dune. My heart is racing, and my mouth is dry. ``Have there ever been any accidents?'' I hoarsely ask our driver, still attached to his cellphone. ``Vehicles overturn sometimes,'' he mutters. ``Do mare hai (Two have died).''

If the thought of dying in a Landcruiser (actually, the sport is very safe) is depressing, there are other ways of spending time on the dunes. You can strap on a set of sand skiis and race to the bottom or ride dune buggies. Fortunately, there are no more blood-curdling activities lined up for the evening, if you discount the camel ride outside a camp in the heart of the desert. One of my Russian comrades is thrown off an irritated, snorting camel and trampled underfoot. End of camel rides. He lies groaning on his back for an hour. Someone gives him a swig of vodka and his recovery is remarkable.

We are in a camp nestling in a sandy hollow in the middle of nowhere. Above, the sun is sinking in a blaze of gold, the jagged fringes of its companion clouds ripped by slashes of red. Sunsets in the desert are unforgettable. Inside, an evening of merriment unfolds. There is a live hooded eagle, dead stuffed lamb, cognac and a Lebanese singer who karaokes his way through everything from Arabic ballads to the Macarena. I stretch out on a carpet, pull at a softly burbling sheesha and watch the sky turn from gold to grey to black. The sheesha is Arabia's contribution to decadence. Expats in Dubai call it the ``hubble bubble''. The sheesha is something like a flavoured hookah. I prefer the apple-flavoured tobacco, but it also comes in strawberry, watermelon, even banana. A well of water down the apparatus burbles when you puff away. Very relaxing, even therapeutic.

Until she races into the camp. As she shrugs off her veil, the karaoke man, who is distinctly flagging, strikes up with renewed vigour. I sit up, and gape spellbound at my first sight of a belly dancer. She shakes, she shimmies; all creation suddenly seems centred on her swivelling diamond-studded navel. She pulls terrified Russians to their feet; she fights off two lascivious Arabs who stuff dirhams, tentatively at first in the elastic of her waist, then boldly into her blouse. ``Mustafaaaa, aii mustafa,'' warbles the karaoke man. I thought belly dancers were tubs of lard, but this woman is ephemeral, a knockout. Her skin is smooth, her body supple and her smile could blow open Alladin's cave. Suddenly the music stops. She bows, smiles, blows a kiss, turns and races out--into the Arabian night.

It is my last night in UAE, and I am hopelessly in love. I sit quietly in the front seat of the Landcruiser, watching blankly as its headlights eat up the dark road to Dubai. In four hours I will be airborne; four hours after that in Delhi. My mind wanders. Can I ask a belly dancer out? How do you make a date with a belly dancer anyway? Oh well, there's always a next time.

FOOTLOOSE IN THE EMIRATES

Deep-sea Fishing
Boats available with air-conditioned cabins, sun decks, rest rooms, even music systems. Catch includes barracuda, sailfish, kingfish, marlin and tuna. Costs range from Rs 3,000 per person for one to three hours to Rs 19,000 for two-day trips, though costlier places charge up to Rs 24,000 for eight-hour trips. Contact: Seahorse Fishing--Tel: (06) 377828; Sun Tours--Tel: 214555; Dubai International Marine Club--Tel: 846111.

Scuba-diving
From coral reefs to sunken wrecks, Dubai offers excellent scuba-diving. If you don't know diving, basic courses could last a week upwards. Basic courses start from Rs 12,000; advanced courses are cheaper. Single dives: Rs 1,000 upwards. Also recommended is a two-night package (Rs 11,500 including equipment and food) at the Khasab diving centre in Musandam with its fjord-like inlets and dolphin sightings. Khasab Diving Centre (Oman)--Tel: 420553; Inner Space Diving (instruction in Hindi available)--Tel: 310203; Al Boom Marine--Tel: 389710; Ocean Divers--Tel: (09) 382971.

Jet Skiing
Available most afternoons at a number of locations in Dubai near the Al Garhoud Bridge, downstream of Dubai Golf and Yacht Club, the Al Mamzar beach park, beach clubs and hotels. Rs 1,000 for half an hour.

Mountaineering
The land around Dubai is flat, but the Western Hajar Mountains, a couple of hours out, offer spectacular views, short walks and all-day treks. Rs 2,750 per person upwards. Desert Rangers--Tel: 460808.

Parasailing
You can either splash down in the warm, blue waters or land on the boat if you don't want to get wet. Rs 1,000 per person for a 10-minute flight. Sun Tours--Tel: 214555.

Sand Skiing
Surf or ski the big sand dunes after basic instructions. Once at the bottom, either walk up or be driven back up the dune. Rs 1,750 for half a day. Desert Rangers--Tel: 460808. Offered by other tour companies too.

Dune Buggies
You are given protective overalls, a full-face helmet, safety instructions and familiarisation. Then it's just the track and you--and the rangers who stand guard. Rs, 3,750 per person. Desert Rangers.

Ice-skating
Yes, ice-skating in the middle of the desert. Indoor rinks with giant blocks of ice. Rs 100 for two hours upwards. Al Nasr Leisureland--Tel: 371234

FOOD FOR THOUGHT
Dubai is foodie paradise. It's a melting pot of cultures, and because the city caters to expatriates from most of the world's cultures, it also has most of the world's food--from Italian to Vietnamese.

But this is the place to revel in the glories of the Arab world's wonderfully light and fragrant food. One of the best post-sheesha dinners I had was at the Al Bahar, under an umbrella of stars alongside the Dubai creek. The memorable meal included an arias, a baked, lighter version of the kheema naan, and a sambousehk, an Arabic samosa that's stuffed with cheese, spinach or meat and baked.

Fatoush came next, a salad with crispy bread called kubus and feta cheese, made from goat's milk and salted. Minutes later the main course, a hammour marinated and stuffed with tomatoes and green chillies, lovingly stares at me. ``Eat me,'' it pleads. So I do, with great relish. The hammour is a coastal fish which the Arabs either fry, grill or stuff. But it's typically grilled with lemon-butter sauce. Like a fresh surmai (seer fish), its meat comes off in firm, wonderfully smooth flakes.