So, let us leave aside then, for a while at least, the world of ultra-luxury hotels, and have a quick look at how the other half lives. Or perhaps the other 95% or so, would be more accurate, the world being what it is. Let’s take a wander through the streets of ‘old dubai’ – though, of course, very little of it is really all that old. 
However, it’s a bit more gritty and real than that which has been filling these pages thus far. Last monday night I had a few errands to run, one of which was simply to take some pictures for this blog; the others led me through the Cloth Souk, the Spice Souk and the Gold Souk.
There is another side to the city, to be sure. It feels a lot like the busy trading centre of a major Asian city, which should hardly be surprising, I suppose, especially since 
the vast majority of its denizens are expatriates from India, Iran, Pakistan, and points further afield. That of course is also true of the people that are building and staffing the luxury hotels elsewhere in town (the builders mostly Indian, the service staff more varied, with large proportions from Sri Lanka, the Philippines, Uzbekistan and central Asia). There are many more Iranians, from what I can tell, in the mercantile trades here. This may be in part because speaking Arabic is a significant part of the job.
There were some characters in the shops; of course, it’s all about bargaining and haggling here, you can be quite confident that the starting price is anything up to twice the ‘real’ price or more, and that no matter how good you think you are at bargaining, the last price is still a pretty good deal for the vendor. They’re better at it than you are, and they understand the power of a friendly smile and an easy-going nature. There is much joking around, and assurances that they are going to give you a Special Price – 
as if you were somehow a treasured old friend or important houseguest, and usually at the end you have the distinct impression that you spent more than you had intended to, but it’s not so bad really.
The older sections of town are clustered around the Dubai Creek, and getting around usually involves a trip on one of the rivercraft called Abras – 
bigger, gas-powered versions of the same elongated dories that ply the waters of Madinat out here in the juxury zone. These working-class cousins are a bit more rough-and-tumble, and they aren’t so decorous when it comes to stopping for dis/embarkation; you have to be on your toes a little. In that sense it reminded me of Bangkok a little. The Creek is one of the more picturesque parts of what is not, 
let’s be honest here, the prettiest city in the world.
The Souks are pretty atmospheric, especially the Spice Souk with its myriad fragrances, which I could still smell on my clothes the next morning. It’s also reassuring on a freshness level when, within 100 metres of the Souk, there are docks lined with enormous bales and crates of spices just unloaded and waiting for distribution to the various vendours in the marketplace.
Eventually, though, all good things must come to an end; the shops began to close and it was time to cart our purchases back here to the Land Of Nod. Given that my time here is almost done, this might have been my last visit to the ‘grittier’ parts of the city. Glad I made the trek!
