Lucas Marquardt in Dubai

RAIN, SNOW IN DUBAI
   The average annual rainfall in the United Arab Emirates is 3.7”. So I believed Michael Dickinson yesterday when he told me that Dubai gets a good two-day soaking–like the one we’re currently getting–once a year. Not that the folks back in the States are feeling much sympathy, but it was an atypically gray, wet day yesterday, and the forecast is for another one Thursday. As fellow TDN contributor Michele MacDonald and I pulled up to Meydan at 6 a.m., we could see only a handful of journalists in the area designated for us at the clubhouse turn of the track. Then we saw why: the rest were crammed under the small white hospitality tent that serves coffee and pastries. We sat in the car and waited. Finally, the rain tapered, and folks, us included, ventured out to get their work done. 
    Between the morning trackwork and the late afternoon’s post-position draw, there was a gap to be filled, so I hopped on the Metro and ventured down to the Mall of the Emirates (not to be confused with Dubai Mall), which is home to Ski Dubai, a 22,500-square- meter indoor downhill slope. I ski like I play most sports: with little skill, but with enough reckless enthusiasm to get me by, and figured, tourist trap or not, it would be hard to pass up the novelty of skiing in the desert.
    A $65 adult ticket gets you boots and skis (or a snowboard), as well as snow pants and a jacket, and 
2 hours on the, em, mountain. Gloves and hats can be purchased for $5 or so. The rental area looks like that of any ski area, but then an escalator takes you up a flight, and you step through a pair of sliding glass doors into what’s essentially a massive, temperature- controlled warehouse that rises up 85 meters. As you look up, you see the hill doglegs to the left, so that the slope is roughly L-shaped. 
   The temperature during the day is a constant 30ºF (dropping to 21ºF at night during snow making), so it’s easy to imagine the place being packed when the summertime temps hit three figures. Three feet of very adequate man-made snow covers the hill. 
    A tow rope can get skiers up the hill, but it’s easier to hop on the quad-lift, which reaches the top, a quarter-mile up, in five minutes. From there, you have the option of two runs; the one that runs to the right, despite an “experts only” warning, is just slightly more difficult. (The Ski Dubai site claims to have five runs, so one of us isn’t amazing at math.) It takes about 30 seconds to get to the bottom, and while it’s hardly a heart-stopping ride, I zipped back up and repeated the run five or six times. 
    If you’re a beginner, you can take an inexpensive lesson and be out there skiing in under an hour. If you’re experienced and come with reasonable expectations, you can find a lot worse ways to spend an hour or two. 

Out of Place: Not Just a Stallion… 
    I wasn’t quite sure what I had stumbled across, and am still not sure. On Tuesday evening, after finishing up with work, I decided to get a quick drink before calling it a day. I’d already seen the house band at my own hotel in Deira–they fell somewhat short of their name, Brilliant Band–and so opted for the bar at the neighboring hotel (drinking establishments in Dubai can be found only in hotels, an understandable if cushy monopoly). 
    The bar advertised itself as Indian, and hookah smoke and Bollywood music filled the dark room upon entering. It was crowded, with an entirely male crowd in low-backed chairs facing toward a stage. I was led to a banquette along the wall, paid $10 for a Budweiser, and tried to make out what was going on. It wasn’t easy. 
    On stage, there were nine somewhat attractive women, all fully clothed but in mildly provocative dresses–a leopard-print miniskirt, a form-fitting baby blue number. Seven sat at the rear of the stage, while two danced. The dancing wasn’t dirty–you’ve seen saucier stuff at weddings–and wasn’t all that inspired, but from what I gathered there was a competitive edge to it. 
    A youngish gentleman who seemed to be officiating appeared at the front of the stage every few minutes. He carried a tiara on a silver tray, and would theatrically point at one of the girls with the tiara, without actually ever giving it away. Another man, in a maroon sports coat who looked like an Indian Luis Guzmán, emceed from a small booth to the side of the stage. 
    Dancers sometimes rotated in, and sometimes all the girls along the back row, looking bored and mouthing the words to whatever song was playing, would stand, then given some cue, sit back down again. Rarely did any of the girls actually leave the stage. They danced like the women from the Robert Palmer videos. When a song stopped, one man in the entire place, sitting in front of me, offered applause. I clapped too. This went on for half an hour. 
Finally I left, none the wiser of what actually was happening. I went back and got another Budweiser and watched Brilliant Band cover “Sexy And I Know It.” 
    It was a strange night.