I flew back from Dubai yesterday. My third visit, I barely see it as another country anymore. A couple of things aside, this trip was everything that I would rather exclude from my travels. But that’s how I know what I do like about travel — and that’s what this post is about :)

Okay I’d like to get one thing out of the way — the most important thing for me is people. Good company makes up for a good trip. I’d rather roam around solo than to be with someone I don’t particularly like. And in places too, I’m almost always fascinated by people than by landscapes or monuments or food. I like humans it seems.

Now the second best thing, a good story. I’m all in for stories. Tell me everything you’ve got, I’m listening! But it’s not just a person who tells a story, everything does. If you pay attention of course.

I remember one from the graveyard in the mountains of McLeod Ganj. Old it was, with graves from over two centuries ago. They were beautiful stone sculptures withered away with time, some slightly cracked, some broken into pieces, some still intact but dull. What caught my eye were two graves that were smaller than the rest. They looked exactly the same, and why wouldn’t they, cause they held the bodies of two sisters. Sisters who were just five and eleven months old. Oh what tragedy it must’ve been!

I’ll share two more from this trip. Dubai is well known for big, shiny things. But this time I got to see one, not-so-shiny part. The crude, rural, organic part, away from the city. Villages, date farms and herds of camels chilling in the stables or grazing in the desert. The landscape was beautiful! But at the same time, horrific to think that these people choose to live here, with bare minimum, at fifty degrees, when they could be enjoying the luxuries of the city. Why would anyone do that? That’s a story I’d want to hear.

The other one is about a refrigerator. We were driving in the city and it was there, on the side of the road, chilling (the drinks) alone, and serving the construction workers and food delivery guys. Some very kind people installed it so that anyone who’s thirsty, who’s fighting the extremes of heat but still doing their job, could enjoy some moments of cool. A mini oasis — how wonderful, satisfactory, how very grateful it must feel!

Everything tells a story, if only one is willing to listen. Though the good ones, like the tales of grandma, come from the aged. Good stories reside in the cracks of that old building; the child who’s living here for generations; the landscapes that took shape over millennia, not decades. And they don’t necessarily need words to be told. Sight is enough to take them in. Observe.

That’s definitely a personal taste, and I guess, is the reason that I am not able to fully appreciate the modern wonders of this city. Instead of Dubai Mall, I enjoyed cruising through the sandy countryside much more. It takes me back in time and tells me where it all began. It shows me how things were before some crazy dude conceived the idea of constructing utopia in the middle of desert. A story that the glimmers of the mall failed to narrate.

🤔 Makes me wonder

Something that I’m observing a lot lately…

💭 Aphorisms

Wish I could put some pictures from the trip, but I have none. Thanks for reading anyways!

I’ll catch you next week,
Aachman