Never have I experienced such incompetence and disrespect as we did at Dubai International Airport.
Most flights with Emirates will have a layover at the Dubai hub for refueling. We had a short stop in Dubai on both flights; going, it was only four hours, coming; it was eight (although the pain we experienced was tenfold).
Arriving in Dubai the first time, I’m not sure what I expected to find, but in retrospect it made complete sense. Imagine a scene from Joss Whedon’s futuristic TV series Firefly. Terminal 3 reminds me of one of the central planets; a bustling hub for international flights, and a melting pot of culture. Men wearing the traditional Arab thawb (white suit and headdress) as common as your jeans-sporting Aussie bloke, followed by their black-draped-wives, like shadows in glamorous heels and bling-bling rings herding the children along; the Indians with their turbans and sari-draped wives, aunts, and mother-in-laws in tow; the African natives in their vibrant colours; the holy men; and the lone geisha we spotted, trotting along so delicately in her exquisite kimono and wooden geta sandals.
The novelty didn’t last long.
Failure point #1 – lack of signage / directions / assistance for travellers
Our travel agent had organised for us to relax in the Business Lounge on our first stopover. Having only four hours, we reckoned we’d be able to spend about three of them in the lounge, after going through standard airport protocol. But by the time we found the lounge (after walking back-and-forth between the information desk and the First Class Lounge, having been sent on a wild-goose-chase by attendants who were basically palming us off!) we ended up losing another hour.
Failure point #2 – distance to walk between anything and everything
I don’t believe that the same country who has amazing architectural feats such as the iconic Burj al Arab and the Palm Jumeirah Resort could also have such a horribly wrong airport layout. Terminal 3 (exclusively serviced by Emirates, and home to 300+ gates) is one extremely long walkway. It took us 40 minutes to walk from the center of the terminal to the Business Lounge (let alone back to our departure gate).
We passed Rolex clocks, henna tattoo studios, jewellery shops, prayer rooms, and boxes-upon-boxes of dates and nuts, each step pronouncing our grumps and tireds.
When we finally found the evasive lounge, we were surprised to find an all-you-can-consume buffet of food and drinks. Hellbent on justice, we took full advantage of that.
Unfortunately for us, this was a piece of pie compared to our trip home.
Failure point #3 – queues
We’ve been to the Eiffel Tower. The Vatican. La Sagrada Familia. I don’t think we have ever stood in queues longer than at this airport. The lack of organisation and hospitality was disgusting. Sure, we could overlook having to circle the sky for half an hour due to traffic congestion. But waiting 20 minutes to get off the plane, walking 20 minutes to immigration, waiting another 30 to get through immigration? How about waiting 40 minutes to be stuffed into a cramped shuttle bus to the airport hotel, where we waited yet another 40 minutes in line to check-in? Given that local time was by then 4.00am, and we had to be up at 7.00am to catch our flight back to Sydney, we were beyond furious. He looked like he was about to punch someone out, while I was on the verge of screaming at the incompetent and arrogant staff – who obviously had no idea of customer service or how to communicate with tired and weary travelers.
Never before have I/we felt such emotions, such anger, such frustration.
And yet, somehow, we survived…
A quick nap. A hot shower. And back to our regular programming…
Failure point #4 – lazy, pompous, rude staff
If the night before wasn’t enough, we awoke to yet another succession of queues. Lining up to check out of the hotel, lining up for the shuttle bus back to the airport, lining up for check-in to our flight, lining up for passport control, lining up for another passport check, lining up to enter another security and passport check, lining up for ticket and passport check again, lining up to enter the boarding lounge with passport check, lining up to board the plane… and one last passport check. No typos. That was seven passport checks, from the self-proclaimed “safest airport in the world”.
Dubai International Airport, noun. Home to the needless repetition of process; a torture-like experience.
In hindsight, I wonder what eventually pushed me over the edge. Was it the staff who took a break between serving passengers, casually chatted to each other for five minutes at a time between each person, while the queue looked on with daggers in their eyes? Or was it the ones who randomly took off with your passport, making a slow, tortoise-like amble to another staff-member who would strike up yet another time-wasting conversation, only to return ten minutes later with no explanation given? Perhaps it was the 30-minute-long queues of economy lining up beside the empty Business and First Class queues – the condescending attendants not even allowing exhausted, pregnant women to pass through quickly.
We have never been so happy to be back in Australia.
