Jet Lag is a Scary Thing

And not for the faint-hearted. Yes, this is me the morning after a nearly thirteen hour nonstop flight from New York to Dubai. I've since recovered.

The Uprising was Quelled Without Incident

A slice of Dubai life - A day at the races.

Known as the World’s Richest Horse Race (and Dubai’s biggest party), The Dubai World Cup gives the ruling royals a chance to display their very expensive horses and fabulous wealth. This day at the races is also an excuse for ex-pats to get dressed up, drink too much champagne, and see and be seen at the horse track. In keeping with the spirit I stuck a pink fluffy thing in my hair, donned a little black dress, drank a bit of champagne and traipsed around the race grounds with my friends. It’s always fun to see everyone dressed to the nines.

Following the obligatory pre-race champagne brunch, we attended the big show with our British friends David and Della. Our American friend Kathy - well connected in the Dubai horse racing community - came through with tickets to the grandstand. Woo-Hoo! We were treated to a full international buffet complete with sushi, stir-fries made-to-order and wine and drink delivery service. This privileged perch meant we were actually able to watch the races, as opposed to what we’ve done in years past (and what most ex-pats still do) which is to wander around the various food and bar venues set up on the grounds outside the track without ever laying eyes on a horse. What a pageant we’ve been missing! It was truly a thrill to see these world-class horses run and we had fun with our own wagering on the side. No official betting at the track: gambling is un-Islamic. But then again so is drinking, but apparently it’s a more tolerable sin.

In typical Dubai fashion the event included a huge pyrotechnic display midway through the races that rivaled the Olympic opening ceremony. Another entertaining spectacle unfolded shortly thereafter. From our roost in the stands we could look down into a fenced-off area just next to the grandstand and adjacent to the track where those without tickets (mostly Indian and Pakistani laborers and young Arabs) were allowed in for free. From this enclosed area they could peer over a hedgerow next to the track for a glimpse of the racing action. But at one point during the festivities this group grew restless and made a break for the grandstand.

Here’s the scene: We were finishing up our dessert and coffee, somewhere after Race No. 7, when the jailbreak occurred. Some poor security guard (probably since deported) who was manning the stairs leading from the free area to the grandstand must have fallen asleep or left his post. All of a sudden a huge wave of smiling and very excited construction workers flooded up the stairs and into any of the vacant grandstand seats they could find. Now there are 50 or so guys sheepishly trying to blend in with the grandstand crowd, probably hoping for a bit of cake and coffee too. We were rooting for them. But alas the revolution was short-lived. A group of local “officials” in white dishdashas soon materialized and sent the unofficial crew packing. There were, however, two teen-aged boys who nearly got away with it. They survived the initial purge and I think they thought they were home free. Actually I thought so too. They were about to order beers, when DRAT! They too were plucked from the stands. So close. Such a short brush with the good life.