Naked in Dangerous Places - Cash Peters [76]
There's even a video.
“Choose your island, choose your opportunity,” a narrator purrs to a soothing flute accompaniment.
As he speaks, a cartoon seaplane swoops down through computerized clouds to scuff the ocean waves, before rising over a CGI island shaped like a game preserve on the Serengeti. Each island represents a different country and features a range of enticing attractions, from computer-generated golf courses and castles to futuristic hotels that the cartoon guests inside seem to be enjoying enormously. It sure does look like a glamorous, carefree place to be, if you're a drawing.
“Architect your surroundings,” the narrator continues, misusing a noun. “Customize the way you live with beautifully designed interiors that reflect your individual style.” According to Hamza, the blobs of land on offer vary in price between $9 million and a very reasonable $45 million, “inviting a select few to build the ultimate escape.”
As well as corporations, it's hoped that the select few will include a smattering of high-profile celebs, envisioning a halcyon day not so far off when Donald Trump will open the curtains of the castle on his island one morning to find Oprah next door on her island grouting her patio; a time when Barbara Walters, perhaps having trouble starting the motor on her Jet Ski, will call Rupert Murdoch and the Olsen twins, who'll rush over immediately with tools to help her; when Dakota Fanning, piloting her helicopter to her home on Fanning Island, will wave to Reese Witherspoon playing volleyball down below, gamely taking on Ang Lee, Reba McEntire, and Celine Dion's husband, René Angélil; and as, elsewhere, 50 Cent rubs sunblock on three of the four Baldwin brothers, and members of the band Korn mischievously drain Tom Cruise's pool under cover of darkness, while Jerry Seinfeld and Marvin Hamlisch stand by acting as lookouts.
That's how it's going to be on The World. Fun, peaceful, harmonious. Everybody pulling together and getting along. The exact opposite of the real thing, basically.
Unfortunately, the bigger The World development grows, the less it seems to resemble the model. To my eyes, at least. Not to jump the gun here, because these are early days, but I've seen an aerial photograph of it and to me it looks like an X-ray of somebody's gallstones. The continents aren't as I remember them at all. They've become distorted and twisted out of shape, as though the builders couldn't quite remember where everything went, so they just stuck islands in wherever there was a space and hoped for the best. Things may yet turn out fine, of course. Sheikh Mo doesn't settle for second best. Though at the time of writing, instead of mirroring the layout of the earth's most prominent landmasses, The World resembles two grown-up yaks and a baby yak, grazing.
Doesn't matter, though. By some commercial miracle I don't understand, the moment villas or condos or islands go on sale in any of these ocean developments, they're snapped up without a second thought by foreign investors. Why is that?
“Because we're selling you a piece of Dubai,” Hamza explains, showing me a scale model, which is so beautiful and intricately made that I'd be happy just to live in that! “Many people want to be here,” he says, and goes on to list the reasons: “Number one, it's tax free. You don't pay any taxes. We don't know how to spell ‘tax’ here.”
Really? “It's only three letters,” I reply, stopping short of actually elbowing him in the ribs. “You'd think you'd be able to manage that.”
Grinning, but patently unamused, he continues. “Number two: Good weather. It doesn't rain. Number three: It's safe …”
Ah, yes, safety. I've been meaning to ask someone about that.
But why is it safe, Hamza, hm? In a dangerous part of the world such as this, one that's never far from the brink of war, where innocent people are being blown to bits by rebel insurgents on all other fronts, what's the deal here? How come Dubai gets off scot-free? Riddle me that.
Even as I'm figuring out how to couch this key question in