A Modern Oasis
Shangri-La Hotel, Dubai
That afternoon, we found ourselves at the towering Burj Khalifa, 124 stories high and literally on top of the world. As we shuffled around the observation deck, we looked out at the horizon and followed it intently, examining how it first straddled the sandy dunes of the desert, then the erratic streets of the city, and then the cobalt waters of the Arabian Sea and around again. The sky was an electrifying blue, and every now and again, a flurry of clouds sailed right past our eyes with all the grace of a ballerina pirouetting across a stage. Hovering dreamily over this dazzling metropolis, the city down below seemed so very far away, and we watched intently as tiny black dots in the form of people and cars scrambled in all directions. When I looked out before me, I spotted something incredibly mesmerising. It was our hotel — a most beautiful oasis, a lush verdant sanctuary, right in the heart of the city, known as Shangri-La Hotel, Dubai.
As we sat in the lobby sipping on traditional Arabic coffee, we felt extraordinarily at home, just as one would feel when visiting an old friend’s house. The coffee, which seemed darker than usual, had a most robust flavour, and was lusciously sweet with delicate hints of nutmeg, cardamom and cinnamon. In between sips, we nibbled inquisitively on delicious Emirati dates that were slightly chewy and not too sweet, complementing the coffee perfectly. When the gahwaji, dressed in a traditional white dishdasha, came to refill our cups, he brought with him a most disarming aura and a smile that was evidently not just for show, as it would appear from his example that when a person smiles from their heart and not from their brain, the smile can truly touch another person’s heart.
That night at Marrakech, we felt like a Moroccan prince and princess, dining in such elegance and sophistication. Traditional white and blue bone china set the table perfectly and a charming collection of latticed screens, mosaic tiles and wrought iron lamps whisked us away to the labyrinthine alleyways of the city of Marrakech. There, we shuffled our way through a menagerie of donkey carts, snake charmers and juggling monkeys before returning to the restaurant just as the chef arrived with a rather rustic looking tagine. When the chef lifted its lid, all the mouthwatering aromas of Moroccan cuisine burst into the air like a mushroom cloud, and I wondered just how many dishes had been prepared in it, each time infusing its walls with the exotic spices of North Africa. This time, a medley of succulent lamb cutlets drenched in lemon and tomato juice was on offer, with meat so tender it could have just fallen off the bone if we stared at it hard enough.
As the therapist massaged my body with an almost intoxicating wild lavender spray, I lapsed in and out of a light slumber and dreamed of floating through a field of lavender flowers swaying in a warm spring breeze, and parting gracefully whenever I approached, allowing me to flutter by.
The sweet ambrosial scent of the flowers wafted rhythmically in and out of my head, blurring the line between dream and reality, of which later I pondered if there was really any line at all. I was awoken gently by the warm touch of smooth healing stones being carefully placed on my back, and who knows how long I lay there for letting the stones work their magic, but once they were done, they rolled off my body one by one, leaving me feeling extraordinarily balanced — my soul closer to the earth and my spirits soaring for the skies.
