Naked in Dangerous Places - Cash Peters [72]
“I don't understand,” I said. “Why would they build a ski slope in a place where nobody skis?”
Her answer was trite but true, and went a long way to explaining everything else about this country in a nutshell. “Because,” she said, “they can.”
That's it. Three words.
Because they can.
A basic fact of life when you're loaded. The rest of us just have to accept it.
Once the Ski Dubai shots are over and done with, we're slated to visit the world's largest flagpole. Another outlandish white elephant that someone here thought they might as well build “because we can.” Yet for some reason our enthusiasm, already tepid to begin with, wanes to almost nothing the closer we get. And by the time we're half a mile away, some of us are even feeling pangs of hostility toward it. Seems nobody cares about the world's largest flagpole. Nobody cared before they built it, nobody cares now. So instead we do something far more interesting: we take a detour to Nick's favorite vegetarian café for an early lunch.
Much of the food in Dubai is wonderfully westernized. The best of any of our trips so far. Whatever your diet—including special weirdo demands such as “no oil on anything”—they'll accommodate it here, and in unwieldy portions. Although be warned, it's pricey. Last night at the hotel restaurant, for instance, I got into a squabble with my waitress after she tried to charge me thirty-one dollars for a side salad from the buffet. And just so you don't think I was being obnoxious for the sake of it, let me define side salad for you: two pieces of lettuce, three cherry tomatoes, and a couple of slices of cucumber. That's all I had for thirty-one dollars, a price they charge, no doubt, once again “because they can.”
Well, Sir wasn't standing for it.
“I'm sorry,” I said, after calling over the maitre d', “there's been a mistake.”
“No, my colleague is correct,” he intoned with forced politeness, inspecting the check. “It says here ‘thirty-one dollars.’”
“Yes, I know it says it there, but that's outrageous.” I moved to the buffet table for a full demonstration. “What you're telling me is that if I take a plate and eat everything here, everything, all of this stuff”—pointing—“until there's none left, you'd charge me the same price you did for a tiny fraction of it, namely some lettuce, three tomatoes, and a couple of slices of cucumber.”
I may appear to be a wimp in certain circumstances—when asked to sleep in spider-ridden huts, for instance, or while digging holes with sticks in the jungle or going down opal mines—but on my home turf of a first-class hotel, I am invincible. A fearless conquistador demanding fair play.
“Does that seem fair to you? Does it?”
And I glared—something I don't do lightly.
“Well…”
Five minutes later, a smallish fat guy, with more mustache than any man could possibly have use for, came charging into the room with some urgency. The manager. Suddenly, I was trapped by a black-tied cabal of forced-smiling hotel employees circling my table. Yet did I give an inch of ground? Not likely.
“I insist you change this at once,” I commanded to all three, waving the check.
By now, more guests were drifting in, watching this unpleasant scene escalate. Feeling the heat, and tired, obviously, of dealing with a cheapskate who couldn't see that being ripped off by high prices was part of the whole “Dubai experience,” their resistance collapsed like a faulty card table, as begrudgingly—you should have seen the ire on their faces; it was Solvang all over again—they took the bill away and made a suitable adjustment.
“Thank you. I appreciate it,” I said coldly, handing over five bucks or so, and left.
Frankly, I'm surprised they get any return business. Next time, to hell with them all. I shall dine in my private club. For free.
Time to shoot some B-roll.
“Now … 'til you … come … spot… top!”
Huh?
“Okay, we're rolling!”
Under a blazing noonday sun, I'm stumbling along the ridge of a flawless golden dune shaped like a croissant, one of thousands stretching